POEMS AND BALLADS: SECOND AND THIRD SERIES ^jo copies of this book have been printed on Van Gelder hand-made paper and the type distributed. L POEMS S BALLADS SECOND £iTHIRD SERIES BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE Portland, Maine THOMAS B. MOSHER MDCCCCII GIFT CONTENTS PREFACE ....... POEMS AND BALLADS: Second Series. THE LAST ORACLE IN THE BAY . A FORSAKEN GARDEN RELICS . AT A month's END SESTINA . THE YEAR OF THE ROSE A WASTED VIGIL ..... THE COMPLAINT OF LISA FOR THE FEAST OF GIORDANO BRUNO AVE ATQUE VALE ..... MEMORIAL VERSES ON THE DEATH OF THE OPHILE GAUTIER .... SONNET (with A COPY OF MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIN) ..... AGE AND SONG (TO BARRY CORNWALL) IN MEMORY OF BARRY CORNWALL . EPICEDE ..... TO VICTOR HUGO .... INFERIAE ..... PAGE ix 5 II 23 27 31 37 39 43 47 53 55 74 75 77 So 82 83 848 CONTENTS A IJIRTII-SONG EX-VOTO .... A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND CYRIL TOURNEUR . A BALLAD OF FRANCOIS VILLON PASTICHE .... BEFORE SUNSET SONG ..... a vision of spring in winter ciioriambics .... at parting .... a song in season two leaders victor hugo in 1877 child's song .... TRIADS ..... FOUR SONGS OF FOUR SEASONS : I. WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND II. SPRING IN TUSCANY III. SUMMER IN AUVERGNE IV. AUTUMN IN CORNWALL THE WHITE CZAR . RIZPAH ..... TO LOUIS KOSSUTH TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF VILLON ! TIIIC COMPLAINT OF THE FAIR ARMOURESS A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL FRAGMENT ON DEATH . . . . BALLAD OF THE LORDS OF OLD TIME 85 90 95 97 98 100 102 103 104 108 no III 118 120 121 122 125 136 139 142 14s 147 148 149 154 156 157 VI CONTENTS BALLAD OF THE WOMEN OF PARIS . BALLAD WRITTEN FOR A BRIDEGROOM BALLAD AGAINST THE ENEMIES OF FRANCE THE DISPUTE OF THE HEART AND BODY OF FRANQOIS VILLON EPISTLE IN FORM OF A BALLAD TO IIIS FRIENDS . THE EPITAPH IN FORM OF A BALLAD FROM VICTOR HUGO NOCTURNE THEOPHILE GAUTIER ODE .... IN OBITUM THEOPHILI POET^E AD CATULLUM DEDICATION, 1878 . POEMS AND BALLADS: Third Series. 159 161 163 165 167 169 171 172 174 175 178 179 181 MARCH : AN ODE 187 THE COMMONWEAL . 192 THE ARMADA 205 TO A SEAMEVV 235 PAN AND TIIALASSIUS 240 A BALLAD OF BATH 248 IN A GARDEN 250 A RHYME 252 BABY-BIRD 254 OLIVE 256 A WORD WITH THE WIND 260 NEAP-TIDE 264 Vll CONTENTS BV THi: WAYSIDE. NIGHT IN TIME OF MOURNING THE INTERPRETERS THE RECALL . BY TWILIGHT . A BAHV's EPITAPH . ON THE DEATH OF SIR HENRY TAYLOR IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD NEW year's day . TO SIR RICHARD F. BURTON NELL GWYN . CALIBAN ON ARIEL THE WEARY WEDDING THE WINDS A LYKE-WAKE SONG A reiver's NECK-VERSE THE WITCH-MOTHER THE bride's tragedy A Jacobite's farewell a Jacobite's exile the tyneside widow dedication- page 267 269 270 271 274 27s 276 277 278 284 285 286 287 288 299 300 301 302 305 311 312 316 321 lNDi:.\ to I'ORMS 323 vni PREFACE PREFACE THE present volume containing the text of both Second and Third Series of Poems and Ballads as originally issued in 1878 and 1889, completes the entire collection which under this general title began with Poems and Ballads^ in 1866. For reasons stated in the Preface to our reprint of the First Series in 1899 the title adopted by us was Laus Veneris: Poems and Ballads, that being the name in this country at least, "whereby the book was first known and will continue to be known." Heretofore the Second and Third divisions of Boons and Ballads have only been procurable in two separate volumes ; in bringing them into the compass of a single quarto of ample and attractive format we have at last completed a design that American admirers of Algernon Charles Swinburne cannot fail to appreciate. The three scries considered as a whole present a body of lyrical and elegiac verse unsurpassed and unsurpassable in the literature of the world. XI POEMS AND BALLADS SECOND SERIES INSCRIBED TO RICHARD F. BURTON IN REDEMPTION OF AN OLD PLEDGE AND IN RECOGNITION OF A FRIENDSHIP WHICH I MUST ALWAYS COUNT AMONG THE HIGHEST HONOURS OF I\IY LIFE THE LAST ORACLE (A. D. 361) elirare Toi(3os ex" KaXv^av^ ov fiduTida 5d(pvrjv, oil wa'ya.v \a\iovaav dwij^ero Kal XdXov vdup. YEARS have risen and fallen in darkness or in twilight, Ages waxed and waned that knew not thee nor thine, While the world sought light by night and sought not thy light. Since the sad last pilgrim left thy dark mid shrine. Dark the shrine and dumb the fount of song thence welling. Save for words more sad than tears of blood, that said : Tell the king, on earth has fallen the glorious dwelling, And the water springs that spake are quenched and dead. Not a cell is left the God, no roof, no cover ; In his hand the prophet laurel fozvcrs no more. And the great king's high sad heart, thy true last lover. Felt thine answer pierce and cleave it to the core. And he bowed down his hopeless head In the drift of the wild world's tide, And dying. Thou hast conquered, he said, Galilean; he said it, and died. THE LAST ORACLE And the world that was thine and was ours When the Graces took hands with the Hours Grew cold as a winter wave In the wind from a wide-mouthed grave, As a gulf wide open to swallow The light that the world held dear. O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, Destroyer and healer, hear I Age on age thy mouth was mute, thy face was hidden, And the lips and eyes that loved thee blind and dumb ; Song forsook their tongues that held thy name forbidden, Light their eyes that saw the strange God's kingdom come. Fire for light and hell for heaven and psalms for paeans Filled the clearest eyes and lips most sweet of song. When for chant of Greeks the wail of Galileans Made the whole world moan with hymns of wrath and wrong. Yea, not yet we see thee, father, as they saw thee. They that worshipped when the world was theirs and thine. They whose words had power by thine own power to draw thee Down from heaven till earth seemed more than heaven divine. For the shades are about us that hover When darkness is half withdrawn And the skirts of the dead night cover The face of the live new dawn. For the past is not utterly past Though the word on its lips be the last, And the time be gone by with its creed When men were as beasts that bleed, THE LAST ORACLE As sheep or as swine that wallow, In the shambles of faith and of fear. O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, Destroyer and healer, hear I ' Yet it may be, lord and father, could we know it, We that love thee for our darkness shall have light More than ever prophet hailed of old or poet Standing crowned and robed and sovereign in thy sight. To the likeness of one God their dreams enthralled thee, Who wast greater than all Gods that waned and grew ; Son of God the shining son of Time they called thee, Who wast older, O our father, than they knew. For no thought of man made Gods to love or honour Ere the song within the silent soul began, Nor might earth in dream or deed take heaven upon her Till the word was clothed with speech by lips of man. And the word and the life wast thou, The spirit of man and the breath ; And before thee the Gods that bow Take life at thine hands and death. For these are as ghosts that wane, That are gone in an age or twain ; Harsh, merciful, passionate, pure. They perish, but thou shalt endure ; Be their life as the swan's or the swallow, They pass as the flight of a year. O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, Destroyer and healer, hear ! THE LAST ORACLE Thou the word, the light, the life, the breath, the glory, Strong to help and heal, to lighten and to slay. Thine is all the song of man, the world's whole story ; Not of morning and of evening is thy day. Old and younger Gods are buried or begotten From uprising to downsetting of thy sun, Risen from eastward, fallen to westward and forgotten, And their springs are many, but their end is one. Divers births of godheads find one death appointed, As the soul whence each was born makes room for each ; God by God goes out, discrowned and disanointed, But the soul stands fast that gave them shape and speech. Is the sun yet cast out of heaven? Is the song yet cast out of man? Life that had song for its leaven To quicken the blood that ran Through the veins of the songless years More bitter and cold than tears. Heaven that had thee for its one Light, life, word, witness, O sun, Are they soundless and sightless and hollow. Without eye, without speech, without ear? O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, Destroyer and healer, hear ! Time arose and smote thee silent at his warning. Change and darkness fell on men that fell from thee ; Dark thou satcst, veiled with light, behind the morning. Till tin- soul of man should lift up eyes and see. 8 THE LAST ORACLE Till the blind mute soul get speech again and eyesight, Man may worship not the light of life within ; In his sight the stars whose fires grow dark in thy sight Shine as sunbeams on the night of death and sin. Time again is risen with mightier word of warning, Change hath blown again a blast of louder breath ; Clothed with clouds and stars and dreams that melt in morning, Lo, the Gods that ruled by grace of sin and death ! They are conquered, they break, they are stricken, Whose might made the whole world pale ; They are dust that shall rise not or quicken Though the world for their death's sake wail. As a hound on a wild beast's trace. So time has their godhead in chase ; As wolves when the hunt makes head. They are scattered, they fly, they are fled ; They are fled beyond hail, beyond hollo. And the cry of the chase, and the cheer. O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, Destroyer and healer, hear ! Day by day thy shadow shines in heaven beholden. Even the sun, the shining shadow of thy face : King, the ways of heaven before thy feet grow golden ; God, the soul of earth is kindled with thy grace. In thy lips the speech of man whence Gods were fashioned. In thy soul the thought that makes them and unmakes ; By thy light and heat incarnate and impassioned. Soul to soul of man gives light for light and takes. THE LAST ORACLE As they knew thy name of old time could we know it, Healer called of sickness, slayer invoked of wrong, Light of eyes that saw thy light, God, king, priest, poet, Song should bring thee back to heal us with thy song. For thy kingdom is past not away. Nor thy power from the place thereof hurled ; Out of heaven they shall cast not the day, They shall cast not out song from the world. By the song and the light they give We know thy works that they live ; With the gift thou hast given us of speech We praise, we adore, we beseech. We arise at thy bidding and follow, We cry to thee, answer, appear, O father of all of us, Paian, Apollo, Destroyer and healer, hear ! lO IN THE BAY BEYOND the hollow sunset, ere a star Take heart in heaven from eastward, while the west, Fulfilled of watery resonance and rest. Is as a port with clouds for harbour bar To fold the fleet in of the winds from far That stir no plume now of the bland sea's breast; 11 Above the soft sweep of the breathless bay Southwestward, far past flight of night and day, Lower than the sunken sunset sinks, and higher Than dawn can freak the front of heaven with fire. My thought with eyes and wings made wide makes way To find the place of souls that I desire. Ill If any place for any soul there be. Disrobed and disentrammelled ; if the might. The fire and force that filled with ardent light The souls whose shadow is half the light we see, Survive and be suppressed not of the night ; This hour should show what all day hid from me. II IN THE BAY IV Night knows not, neither is it shown to clay, By sunlight nor by starlight is it shown. Nor to the full moon's eye nor footfall known, Their world's untrodden and unkindled way. Nor is the breath nor music of it blown With sounds of winter or with winds of May. But here, where light and darkness reconciled Hold earth between them as a weanling child Between the balanced hands of death and birth. Even as they held the new-born shape of earth When first life trembled in her limbs and smiled, Here hope might think to find what hope were worth. VI Past Hades, past Elysium, past the long Slow smooth strong lapse of Lethe — past the toil Wherein all souls are taken as a spoil, The Stygian web of waters — if your song Be quenched not, O our brethren, but be strong As ere ye too shook off' our temporal coil ; VII If yet these twain survive your worldly breath, Joy trampling sorrow, life devouring death, 12 IN THE BAY If perfect life possess your life all through And like your words your souls be deathless too, To-night, of all whom night encompasseth, My soul would commune with one soul of you. VIII Above the sunset might I see thine eyes That were above the sundawn in our skies, Son of the songs of morning, — thine that were First lights to lighten that rekindling air Wherethrough men saw the front of England rise And heard thine loudest of the lyre-notes there — IX If yet thy fire have not one spark the less, O Titan, born of her a Titaness, Across the sunrise and the sunset's mark Send of thy lyre one sound, thy fire one spark. To change this face of our unworthiness. Across this hour dividing light from dark. To change this face of our chill time, that hears No song like thine of all that crowd its ears, Of all its lights that lighten all day long Sees none like thy most fleet and fiery sphere's 13 IN THE BAY Outlightening Sirius — in its twilight throng No thunder and no sunrise hke thy song. XI Hath not the sea-wind swept the sea-line bare To pave with stainless fire through stainless air A passage for thine heavenlier feet to tread Ungrieved of earthly floor-work? hath it spread No covering splendid as the sun-god's hair To veil or to reveal thy lordlier head? XII Hath not the sunset shown across the sea A way majestical enough for thee? What hour save this should be thine hour — and mine, If thou have care of any less divine Than thine own soul ; if thou take thought of me, Marlowe, as all my soul takes thought of thine? XIII Before the moon's face as before the sun The morning star and evening star are one For all men's lands as England. O, if night Hang hard upon us, — ere our day take flight. Shed thou some comfort from thy day long done On us pale children of the latter light ! IN THE BAY XIV For surely, brother and master and lord and king, Where'er thy footfall and thy face make spring In all souls' eyes that meet thee wheresoe'er, And have thy soul for sunshine and sweet air — Some late love of thine old live land should cling. Some living love of England, round thee there. XV Here from her shore across her sunniest sea My soul makes question of the sun for thee. And waves and beams make answer. When thy feet Made her ways flowerier and their flowers more sweet With childlike passage of a god to be. Like spray these waves cast off her foemen's fleet. XVI Like foam they flung it from her, and like weed Its wrecks were washed from scornful shoal to shoal, From rock to rock reverberate ; and the whole Sea laughed and lightened with a deathless deed That sowed our enemies in her field for seed And made her shores fit harbourage for thy soul. XVII Then in her green south fields, a poor man's child. Thou hadst thy short sweet fill of half-blown joy, 15 IN THE BAY That ripens all of us for time to cloy With full-blown pain and passion ; ere the wild World caught thee by the fiery heart, and smiled To make so swift end of the godlike boy. XVIII For thou, if ever godlike foot there trod These fields of ours, wert surely like a god. Who knows what splendour of strange dreams was shed With sacred shadow and glimmer of gold and red From hallowed windows, over stone and sod, On thine unbowed bright insubmissive head? XIX The shadow stayed not, but the splendour stays, Our brother, till the last of English days. No day nor night on English earth shall be For ever, spring nor summer, Junes nor Mays, But somewhat as a sound or gleam of thee Shall come on us like morning from the sea. XX Like sunrise never wholly risen, nor yet Quenched ; or like sunset never wholly set, A light to lighten as from living eyes The cold unlit close lids of one that lies i6 IN THE BAY Dead, or a ray returned from death's far skies To fire us living lest our lives forget. XXI For in that heaven what light of lights may be, What splendour of what stars, what spheres of flame Sounding, that none may number nor may name. We know not, even thy brethren ; yea, not we Whose eyes desire the light that lightened thee. Whose ways and thine are one way and the same. XXII But if the riddles that in sleep we read. And trust them not, be flattering truth indeed. As he that rose our mightiest called them, — he. Much higher than thou as thou much higher than we There, might we say, all flower of all our seed, All singing souls are as one sounding sea. XXIII All those that here were of thy kind and kin, Beside thee and below thee, full of love, Full-souled for song, — and one alone above Whose only light folds all your glories in — With all birds' notes from nightingale to dove Fill the world whither we too fain would win. 17 IN THE BAY XXIV The world that sees in heaven the sovereign light Of siinlike Shakespeare, and the fiery night Whose stars were watched of Webster ; and beneath, The twin-souled bi:ethren of the single wreath, Grown in king's gardens, plucked from pastoral heath. Wrought with all flowers for all men's heart's delight. XXV And that fixed fervour, iron-red like Mars, In the mid moving tide of tenderer stars. That burned on loves and deeds the darkest done. Athwart the incestuous prisoner's bride-house bars ; And thine, most highest of all their fires but one. Our morning star, sole risen before the sun. XXVI And one light risen since theirs to run such race Thou hast seen, O Phosphor, from thy pride of place. Thou hast seen Shelley, him that was to thee As light to fire or dawn to lightning ; me, Me likewise, O our brother, shalt thou see, And I behold thee, face to glorious face? XXVII You twain liie same swift year of manhood swept Down the steep darkness, and our father wept. i8 IN THE BAY And from the gleam of Apollonian tears A holier aureole rounds your memories, kept Most fervent-fresh of all the singing spheres, And April-coloured through all months and years. XXVIII You twain fate spared not half your fiery span ; The longer date fulfils the lesser man. Ye from beyond the dark dividing date Stand smiling, crowned as gods with foot on fate. For stronger was your blessing than his ban, And earliest whom he struck, he struck too late. XXIX Yet love and loathing, faith and unfaith yet Bind less to greater souls in unison, And one desire that makes three spirits as one Takes great and small as in one spiritual net Woven out of hope toward what shall yet be done Ere hate or love remember or forget. XXX Woven out of faith and hope and love too great To bear the bonds of life and death and fate : Woven out of love and hope and faith too dear To take the print of doubt and change and fear : 19 IN THE BAY And interwoven with lines of wrath and hate Blood-red with soils of many a sanguine year. XXXI Who cannot hate, can love not; if he grieve, His tears are barren as the unfruitful rain That rears no harvest from the green sea's plain, And as thorns crackling this man's laugh is vain. Nor can belief touch, kindle, smite, reprieve His heart who has not heart to disbelieve. XXXII But you, most perfect in your hate and love. Our great twin-spirited brethren ; you that stand Head by head glittering, hand made fast in hand, And underfoot the fang-drawn worm that strove To wound you living ; from so far above. Look love, not scorn, on ours that was your land. XXXIII For love we lack, and help and heat and light To clothe us and to comfort us with might. What help is ours to take or give? but ye — O, more than sunrise to the blind cold sea, That wailed aloud with all her waves all night, Much more, being much more glorious, should you be. 20 IN THE BAY XXXIV As fire to frost, as ease to toil, as dew To flowerless fields, as sleep to slackening pain, As hope to souls long weaned from hope again Returning, or as blood revived anew To dry-drawn limbs and every pulseless vein. Even so toward us should no man be but you. XXXV One rose before the sunrise was, and one Before the sunset, lovelier than the sun. And now the heaven is dark and bright and loud With wind and starry drift and moon and cloud, And night's cry rings in straining sheet and shroud. What help is ours if hope like yours be none? XXXVI O well-beloved, our brethren, if ye be. Then are we not forsaken. This kind earth Made fragrant once for all time with your birth, And bright for all men with your love, and worth The clasp and kiss and wedlock of the sea, Were not your mother if not your brethren we. XXXVII Because the days were dark with gods and kings And in time's hand the old hours of time as rods, 21 IN THE BAY When force and fear set hope and faith at odds, Ye failed not nor abased your plume-plucked wings ; And we that front not more disastrous things, How should we fail in face of kings and gods? XXXVIII For now the deep dense plumes of night are thinned Surely with winnowing of the glimmering wind Whose feet are fledged with morning ; and the breath Begins in heaven that sings the dark to death. And all the night wherein men groaned and sinned Sickens at heart to hear what sundawn saith. XXXIX O first-born sons of hope and fairest, ye Whose prows first clove the thought-unsounded sea Whence all the dark dead centuries rose to bar The spirit of man lest truth should make him free, The sunrise and the sunset, seeing one star. Take heart as we to know you that ye are. XL Ye rise not and ye set not ; we that say Ye rise and set like hopes that set and rise Look yet but seaward from a land-locked bay; But where at last the sea's line is the sky's And truth and hope one sunlight in your eyes, No sunrise and no sunset marks their day. 22 A FORSAKEN GARDEN IN a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, Walled round with rocks as an inland island. The ghost of a garden fronts the sea. A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses The steep square slope of the blossomless bed Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses Now lie dead. The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, To the low last edge of the long lone land. If a step should sound or a word be spoken. Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand? So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless, Through branches and briers if a man make way. He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless Night and day. The dense hard passage is blind and stifled That crawls by a track none turn to climb To the strait waste place that the years have rifled Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time. 23 A FORSAKEN GARDEN The tliorns he spares when the rose is taken ; The rocks are left when he wastes the phiin. The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, These remain. Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not ; As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry ; From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not. Could she call, there were never a rose to reply. Over the meadows that blossom and wither Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song ; Only the sun and the rain come hither All 3^ear long. The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels One craunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. Only the wind here hovers and revels In a round where life seems barren as death. Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, Haply, of lovers none ever will knows Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping Years ago. Heart handfast in heart as they stood, ' Look thither,' Did he whisper? ' Look forth from the flowers to the sea For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither, And men that love lightly may die — but we?' And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened, And or ever the garden's last petals were shed, 24 A FORSAKEN GARDEN In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened, Love was dead. Or they loved their life through, and then went whither? And were one to the end — but what end who knows? Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither, As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose. Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them? What love was ever as deep as a grave? They are loveless now as the grass above them Or the wave. All are at one now, roses and lovers. Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea. Not a breath of the time that has been hovers In the air now soft with a summer to be. Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep, When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter We shall sleep. Here death may deal not again for ever; Here change may come not till all change end. From the graves they have made they shall rise up never. Who have left nought living to ravage and rend. Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing. While the sun and the rain live, these shall be ; Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing Roll the sea. 25 A FORSAKEN GARDEN Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread. As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead. 26 RELICS THIS flower that smells of honey and the sea, White laurustine, seems in my hand to be A white star made of memory long ago Lit in the heaven of dear times dead to me. A star out of the skies love used to know Here held in hand, a stray left yet to show What flowers my heart was full of in the days That are long since gone down dead memory's flow. Dead memory that revives on doubtful ways, Half hearkening what the buried season says Out of the world of the unapparent dead Where the lost Aprils are, and the lost Mays. Flower, once I knew thy star-white brethren bred Nigh where the last of all the land made head Against the sea, a keen-faced promontory, Flowers on salt wind and sprinkled sea-dews fed. Their hearts were glad of the free place's glory ; The wind that sang them all his stormy story Had talked all winter to the sleepless spray. And as the sea's their hues were hard and hoary. 27 RELICS Like thint^s born of the sea and the brij^ht day, Tliey laughed out at the years that could not slay, Live sons and joyous of unquiet liours, And stronger than all storms that range for prey. And in the close indomitable flowers A keen-edged odour of the sun and showers Was as the smell of the fresh honeycomb Made sweet for mouths of none but paramours. Out of the hard green wall of leaves that clomb They showed like windfalls of the snow-soft foam, Or feathers from the weary south-wind's wing, Fair as the spray that it came shoreward from. And thou, as white, what word hast thou to bring? If my heart hearken, whereof wilt thou sing? For some sign surely thou too hast to bear, Some word far south was taught thee of the spring. White like a white rose, not like these that were Taujiht of the wind's mouth and the winter air, Poor tender thing of soft Italian bloom. Where once thou grewest, what else for me grew there? I^orn in what spring and on what city's tomb. By whose hand wast thou reached, and plucked for whom? There hangs about thee, could the soul's sense tell, An odour as of love and of love's doom. 28 RELICS Of days more sweet than thou wast sweet to smell, Of flower-soft thoughts that came to flower and fell, Of loves that lived a lily's life and died, Of dreams now dwelling where dead roses dwell. O white birth of the golden mountain-side That for the sun's love makes its bosom wide At sunrise, and with all its woods and flowers Takes in the morning to its heart of pride ! Thou hast a word of that one land of ours, And of the fair town called of the fair towers, A word for me of my San Gimignan, A word of April's greenest-girdled hours. Of the breached walls whereon the wallflowers ran Called of Saint Fina, breachless now of man. Though time wath soft feet break them stone by stone, Who breaks down hour by hour his own reign's span. Of the cliff" overcome and overgrown That all that flowerage clothed as flesh clothes bone. That garment of acacias made for May, Whereof here lies one wntness overblown. The fair brave trees wuth all their flowers at play. How king-like they stood up into the day ! How sweet the day was with them, and the night ! Such words of message have dead flowers to say. 29 RELICS This that the winter and the wind made bright, And this that lived upon Italian light, Before I throw them and these words away. Who knows but I what memories too take flight? 30 AT A MONTH'S END THE night last night was strange and shaken More strange the change of you and me. Once more, for the old love's love forsaken, We went out once more toward the sea. For the old love's love-sake dead and buried, One last time, one more and no more. We watched the waves set in, the serried Spears of the tide storming the shore. Hardly we saw the high moon hanging, Heard hardly through the windy night Far waters ringing, low reefs clanging. Under wan skies and waste white light. With chafe and change of surges chiming, The clashing channels rocked and rang Large music, wave to wild wave timing. And all the choral water sang. Faint lights fell this way, that way floated, Quick sparks of sea-fire keen like eyes From the rolled surf that flashed, and noted Shores and faint cliffs and bays and skies. 31 AT A MONTH'S END The ghost of sea that shrank up sighing At the sand's edge, a short sad breath Trembling to touch the goal, and dying With weak heart heaved up once in death — The rustling sand and shingle shaken With light sweet touches and small sound — These could not move us, could not waken Hearts to look forth, eyes to look round. Silent we went an hour together, Under grey skies by waters white. Our hearts were full of windy weather. Clouds and blown stars and broken light. Full of cold clouds and moonbeams drifted And streaming storms and straying fires, Our souls in us were stirred and shifted By doubts and dreams and foiled desires. Across, aslant, a scudding sea-mew Swam, dipped, and dropped, and grazed the sea And one with me I could not dream you ; And one with you I could not be. As the white wing the white wave's fringes Touched and slid over and flashed past — As a pale cloud a pale flame tinges From the moon's lowest light and last — 32 AT A MONTH'S END As a star feels the sun and falters, Touched to death by diviner eyes — As on the old gods' untended altars The old fire of withered worship dies — (Once only, once the shrine relighted Sees the last fiery shadow shine, Last shadow of flame and faith benighted. Sees falter and flutter and fail the shrine) So once with flery breath and flying Your winged heart touched mine and went. And the swift spirits kissed, and sighing, Sundered and smiled and were content. That only touch, that feeling only, Enough we found, we found too much ; For the unlit shrine is hardly lonely As one the old fire forgets to touch. Slight as the sea's sight of the sea-mew, Slight as the sun's sight of the star : Enough to show one must not deem you For love's sake other than you are. Who snares and tames with fear and danger A bright beast of a fiery kin, Only to mar, only to change her Sleek supple soul and splendid skin ? 33 AT A MONTH'S END Easy with blows to mar and maim her, Easy with bonds to bind and bruise ; What profit, if she yield her tamer The limbs to mar, the soul to lose? Best leave or take the perfect creature, Take all she is or leave complete ; Transmute you will not form or feature. Change feet for wings or wings for feet. Strange eyes, new limbs, can no man give her ; Sweet is the sweet thing as it is. No soul she hath, we see, to outlive her; Hath she for that no lips to kiss? So may one read his weird, and reason, And with vain drugs assuage no pain. For each man in his loving season Fools and is fooled of these in vain. Charms that alia}' not any longing, Spells that appease not any grief. Time brings us all by handfuls, wronging All hurts with nothing of relief. Ah, too soon shot, the fool's bolt misses ! What help? the world is full of loves ; Night after night of running kisses, Chirp after chirp of changing doves. 34 AT A MONTH'S END Should Love disown or disesteem you For loving one man more or less? You could not tame your light white sea-mew, Nor I my sleek black pantheress. For a new soul let whoso please pray, We are what life made us, and shall be. For you the jungle and me the sea-spray, And south for you and north for me. But this one broken foam-white feather I throw you off the hither wing. Splashed stiff with sea-scurf and salt weather, This song for sleep to learn and sing — Sing in your ear when, daytime over, You, couched at long length on hot sand With some sleek sun-discoloured lover, Wince from his breath as from a brand : Till the acrid hour aches out and ceases, And the sheathed eyeball sleepier swims. The deep flank smoothes its dimpling creases. And passion loosens all the limbs : Till dreams of sharp grey north-sea weather Fall faint upon your fiery sleep. As on strange sands a strayed bird's feather The wind may choose to lose or keep. 35 AT A MONTH'S END But I, who leave my queen of panthers, As a tired honey-heavy bee Gilt with sweet dust from gold-grained anthers Leaves the rose-chalice, what for me? From the ardours of the chaliced centre, From the amorous anthers' golden grime. That scorch and smutch all wings that enter, I fly forth hot from honey-time. But as to a bee's gilt thighs and winglets The flower-dust wath the flower-smell clings As a snake's mobile rampant ringlets Leave the sand marked with print of rings ; So to my soul in surer fashion Your savage stamp and savour hangs ; The print and perfume of old passion, The wild-beast mark of panther's fangs. 36 SESTINA I SAW my soul at rest upon a day As a bird sleeping in the nest of night, Among soft leaves that give the starlight way To touch its wings but not its eyes with light So that it knew as one in visions may, And knew not as men waking, of delight. This was the measure of my soul's delight ; It had no power of joy to fly by day, Nor part in the large lordship of the light; But in a secret moon-beholden way Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night, And all the love and life that sleepers may. But such life's triumph as men waking may It might not have to feed its faint delight Between the stars by night and sun by day, Shut up with green leaves and a little light ; Because its way was as a lost star's way, A world's not wholly known of day or night. 37 SESTINA All loves and dreams and sounds and gleams of night Made it all music that such minstrels may, And all they had they gave it of delight ; But in the full face of the fire of day What place shall be for any starry light, What part of heaven in all the wide sun's way? Yet the soul woke not, sleeping by the way, Watched as a nursling of the large eyed night, And sought no strength nor knowledge of the day. Nor closer touch conclusive of delight, Nor mightier joy nor truer than dreamers may, Nor more of song than they, nor more of light. For who sleeps once and sees the secret light Whereby sleep shows the soul a fairer way Between the rise and rest of day and night. Shall care no more to fare as all men may. But he his place of pain or of delight. There shall he dwell, beholding night as day. Song, have thy day and take thy fill of light Before the night be fallen across thy way ; Sing while he may, man hath no long delight. 38 THE YEAR OF THE ROSE FROM the depths of the green garden-closes Where the summer in darkness dozes Till autumn pluck from his hand An hour-glass that holds not a sand ; From the maze that a flower-belt encloses To the stones and sea-grass on the strand How red was the reign of the roses Over the rose-crowned land I The year of the rose is brief ; From the first blade blown to the sheaf, From the thin green leaf to the gold, It has time to be sweet and grow old, To triumph and leave not a leaf For witness in winter's sight How lovers once in the light Would mix their breath with its breath, And its spirit was quenched not of night, As love is subdued not of death. 39 THE YEAR OF THE ROSE In the red-rose land not a mile Of the meadows from stile to stile, Of the valleys from stream to stream, But the air was a long sweet dream And the earth was a sweet wide smile Red-mouthed of a goddess, returned From the sea which had borne her and burned. That with one swift smile of her mouth Looked full on the north as it yearned, And the north was more than the south. For the north, when winter was long, In his heart had made him a song. And clothed it with wings of desire. And shod it with shoon as of fire. To carry the tale of his wrong To the south-west wind by the sea, That who might bear it but he To the ears of the goddess unknown Who waits till her time shall be To take the world for a throne? In the earth beneath, and above In the heaven where her name is love. She warms with light from her eyes The seasons of life as they rise, And her eyes are as eyes of a dove, But the wings that lift her and bear 40 THE YEAR OF THE ROSE As an eagle's, and all her hair As fire by the wind's breath curled, And her passage is song through the air. And her presence is spring through the world. So turned she northward and came. And the white-thorn land was aflame With the fires that were shed from her feet, That the north, by her love made sweet, Should be called by a rose-red name ; And a murmur was heard as of doves. And a music beginning of loves In the light that the roses made. Such light as the music loves. The music of man with maid. But the days drop one upon one. And a chill soft wind is begun In the heart of the rose-red maze That weeps for the roseleaf days And the reign of the rose undone That ruled so long in the light, And by spirit, and not by sight. Through the darkness thrilled with its breath, Still ruled in the viewless night. As love might rule over death. The time of lovers is brief; From the fair first joy to the grief 41 THE YEAR OF THE ROSE That tells when love is grown old, From the warm wild kiss to the cold, From the red to the white-rose leaf. They have but a season to seem As roseleaves lost on a stream That part not and pass not apart As a spirit from dream to dream, As a sorrow from heart to heart. From the bloom and the gloom that encloses The death-bed of Love where he dozes Till a relic be left not of sand To the hour-glass that breaks in his hand ; From the change in the grey garden-closes To the last stray grass of the strand, A rain and ruin of roses Over the red-rose land. 42 A WASTED VIGIL COULDST thou not watch with me one hour? Behold, Dawn skims the sea with flying feet of gold, With sudden feet that graze the gradual sea ; Couldst thou not watch with me? II What, not one hour? for star by star the night Falls, and her thousands world by world take flight; They die, and day survives, and what of thee? Couldst thou not watch wath me ? Ill Lo, far in heaven the web of night undone. And on the sudden sea the gradual sun ; Wave to wave answers, tree responds to tree Couldst thou not watch with me ? 43 A WASTED VIGIL IV Sunbeam by sunbeam creeps from line to line, Foam by foam quickens on the brightening brine ; Sail by sail passes, flower by flower gets free ; Couldst thou not watch with me? Last year, a brief while since, an age ago, A whole year past, with bud and bloom and snow, O moon that wast in heaven, what friends were we ! Couldst thou not watch with me? VI Old moons, and last year's flowers, and last year's snows Who now saith to thee, moon? or who saith, rose? O dust and ashes, once found fair to see ! Couldst thou not watch with me? VII O dust and ashes, once thought sweet to smell ! With me it is not, is it with thee well? O sea-drift blown from windward back to lee ! Couldst thou not watch with me? 44 A WASTED VIGIL VIII The old year's dead hands are full of their dead flowers, The old days are full of dead old loves of ours, Born as a rose, and briefer born than she ; Couldst thou not watch with me? IX Could two days live again of that dead year. One would say, seeking us and passing here, Where is she f and one answering. Where is he ? Couldst thou not watch with me? Nay, those two lovers are not anywhere ; If we were they, none knows us what we were, Nor aught of all their barren grief and glee. Couldst thou not watch with me ? XI Half false, half fair, all feeble, be my verse Upon thee not for blessing nor for curse ; For some must stand, and some must fall or flee ; Couldst thou not watch with me? 45 A WASTED VIGIL XII As a new moon above spent stars thou wast ; But stars endure after the moon is past. Couldst thou not watch one hour, though I watch three? Couldst thou not watch with me? XIII What of the night? The night is full, the tide Storms inland, the most ancient rocks divide ; Yet some endure, and bow nor head nor knee ; Couldst thou not watch with me? XIV Since thou art not as these are, go thy ways ; Thou hast no part in all my nights and days. Lie still, sleep on, be glad — as such things be; Thou couldst not watch with me. 46 THE COMPLAINT OF LISA (Double Sestina) DECAMERON, X. 7 There is no woman living that draws breath So sad as I, though all things sadden her. There is not one upon life's weariest way Who is weary as I am weary of all but death. Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower All day with all his whole soul toward the sun ; While in the sun's sight I make moan all day, And all night on my sleepless maiden bed Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee. That thou or he would take me to the dead. And know not what thing evil I have done That life should lay such heavy hand on me. Alas, Love, what is this thou wouldst with me? What honour shalt thou have to quench my breath, Or what shall my heart broken profit thee? O Love, O great god Love, what have I done. That thou shouldst hunger so after my death ? 47 THE COMPLAINT OF LISA My heart is harmless as my life's first day : Seek out some false fair woman, and plague her Till her tears even as my tears fill her bed : I am the least flower in thy flowery way, But till my time be come that I be dead Let me live out my flower-time in the sun Though my leaves shut before the sunflower. 0 Love, Love, Love, the kingly sunflower! Shall he the sun hath looked on look on me, That live down here in shade, out of the sun. Here living in the sorrow and shadow of death? Shall he that feeds his heart full of the day Care to give mine eyes light, or my lips breath? Because she loves him shall my lord love her Who is as a worm in my lord's kingly way ? 1 shall not see him or know him alive or dead ; But thou, I know thee, O Love, and pray to thee That in brief while my brief life-days be done. And the worm quickly make my marriage-bed. For underground there is no sleepless bed : But here since I beheld my sunflower These eyes have slept not, seeing all night and day His sunlike eyes, and face fronting the sun. Wherefore if anywhere be any death, I would fain find and fold him fast to me, That I ma}^ sleep with the world's eldest dead, 48 THE COMPLAINT OF LISA With her that died seven centuries since, and her That went last night down the night-wandering way. For this is sleep indeed, when labour is done. Without love, without dreams, and without breath, And without thought, O name unnamed ! of thee. Ah, but, forgetting all things, shall I thee? Wilt thou not be as now about my bed There underground as here before the sun? Shall not thy vision vex me alive and dead, Thy moving vision without form or breath? I read long since the bitter tale of her Who read the tale of Launcelot on a day. And died, and had no quiet after death. But was moved ever along a weary way, Lost with her love in the underworld ; ah me, O my king, O my lordly sunflower. Would God to me too such a thing were done ! But if such sweet and bitter things be done, Then, flying from life, I shall not fly from thee. For in that living world without a sun Thy vision will lay hold upon me dead. And meet and mock me, and mar my peace in death. Yet if being wroth God had such pity on her, Who was a sinner and foolish in her day. That even in hell they twain should breathe one breath, Why should he not in some wise pity me? 49 THE COMPLAINT OF LISA So if I sleep not in my soft strait bed I may look up and see my sunflower As he the sun, in some divine strange way. 0 poor my heart, well knowest thou in what way This sore sweet evil unto us was done. For on a holy and a heavy day 1 was arisen out of my still small bed To see the knights tilt, and one said to me ♦The king,' and seeing him, somewhat stopped my breath, And if the girl spake more, I heard not her, For only I saw what I shall see when dead, A kingly flower of knights, a sunflower. That shone against the sunlight like the sun. And like a fire, O heart, consuming thee. The fire of love that liglits the pyre of death. Howbeit I shall not die an evil death Who have loved in such a sad and sinless wav, That this my love, lord, was no shame to thee. So when mine eyes are shut against the sun, O my soul's sun, O the world's sunflower, Thou nor no man will quite despise me dead. And dying I pray with all my low last breath That thy whole life may be as was that day. That feast-day that made trothplight death and me, Giving the world light of thy great deeds done ; And that fair face brightening thy bridal bed, That God be good as God hath been to her. 50 / THE COMPLAINT OF LISA That all things goodly and glad remain with her, All things that make glad life and goodly death ; That as a bee sucks from a sunflower Honey, when summer draws delighted breath, Her soul may drink of thy soul in like way, And love make life a fruitful marriage-bed Where day may bring forth fruits of joy to day And night to night till days and nights be dead. And as she gives light of her love to thee. Give thou to her the old glory of days long done ; And either give some heat of light to me. To warm me where I sleep without the sun. O sunflower made drunken with the sun, O knight whose lady's heart draws thine to her. Great king, glad lover, I have a word to thee. There is a weed lives out of the sun's way, Hid from the heat deep in the meadow's bed, That swoons and whitens at the wind's least breath, A flower star-shaped, that all a summer day Will gaze her soul out on the sunflower For very love till twilight finds her dead. But the great sunflower heeds not her poor death. Knows not when all her loving life is done ; And so much knows my lord the king of me. Aye, all day long he has no e3'e for me ; With golden eye following the golden sun From rose-coloured to purple-pillowed bed, 51 THE COMPLAINT OF LISA From birthplace to the llame-lit place of death, From eastern end to western of his way. So mine eye follows thee, my sunflower. So the white star-flower turns and yearns to thee, The sick weak weed, not well alive or dead. Trod underfoot if any pass by her. Pale, without colour of summer or summer breath In the shrunk shuddering petals, that have done No work but love, and die before the day. But thou, to-day, to-morrow, and every day, Be glad and great, O love whose love slays me. Thy fervent flower made fruitful from the sun Shall drop its golden seed in the world's way, That all men thereof nourished shall praise thee For grain and flower and fruit of works well done ; Till thy shed seed, O shining sunflower, Bring forth such growth of the world's garden-bed As like the sun shall outlive age and death. And yet I would thine heart had heed of her Who loves thee alive ; but not till she be dead. Come, Love, then, quickly, and take her utmost breath. Song, speak for me who am dumb as are the dead; From my sad bed of tears I send forth thee, To fly all day from sun's birth to sun's death Down the sun's way after the flying sun. For love of her that gave thee wings and breath Ere day be done, to seek the sunflower. 52 FOR THE FEAST OF GIORDANO BRU NO, PHILOSOPHER AND MARTYR SON of the lightning and the light that glows Beyond the lightning's or the morning's light, Soul splendid with all-righteous love of right, In whose keen fire all hopes and fears and woes Were clean consumed, and from their ashes rose Transfigured, and intolerable to sight Save of purged eyes whose lids had cast off night, In love's and wisdom's likeness when they close. Embracing, and between them truth stands fast. Embraced of either ; thou whose feet were set On English earth while this was England yet. Our friend that art, our Sidney's friend that wast. Heart hardier found and higher than all men's past, Shall we not praise thee though thine own forget? II Lift up thy light on us and on thine own, O soul whose spirit on earth was as a rod 53 FOR THE FEAST OF GIORDANO BRUNO To scourge off priests, a sword to pierce th-'irGod, A staff for man's free thought to walk alone, A lamp to lead him far from shrine and throne On ways untrodden where his fathers trod Ere earth's heart withered at a high priest's nod And all men's mouths that made not prayer made moan. From bonds and torments and the ravening flame Surely thy spirit of sense rose up to greet Lucretius, where such only spirits meet, And walk with him apart till Shelley came To make the heaven of heavens more heavenl}- sweet And mix with yours a third incorporate name. 54 AVE ATQUE VALE IN MEMORY OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE Nous devrions pourtant lui porter quelques fleurs ; Les morts, les pauvres morts, ont de grandes douleurs, Et quand Octobre souffle, emondeur des vieux arbres, Son vent melancolique k I'entour de leurs marbres, Certe, ils doivent trouver les vivants bien ingrats. Les Fletirs du Mai. SHALL I Strew on thee rose or rue or laurel, Brother, on this that was the veil of thee? Or quiet sea-flower moulded by the sea, Or simplest growth of meadow-sweet or sorrel, Such as the summer-sleepy Dryads weave, Waked up by snow-soft sudden rains at eve? Or wilt thou rather, as on earth before, Half-faded fiery blossoms, pale with heat And full of bitter summer, but more sweet To thee than gleanings of a northern shore Trod by no tropic feet? 55 AVE ATQJJE VALE For al\va3'^s thee the fervid languid glories Allured of heavier suns in mightier skies ; Thine ears knew all the wandering watery sighs Where the sea sobs round Lesbian promontories, The barren kiss of piteous wave to wave That knows not where is that Leucadian grave Which hides too deep the supreme head of song. Ah, salt and sterile as her kisses were, The wild sea winds her and the green gulfs bear Hither and thither, and vex and work her wrong, Blind gods that cannot spare. Ill Thou sawest, in thine old singing season, brother, Secrets and sorrows unbeheld of us : Fierce loves, and lovely leaf-buds poisonous, Bare to thy subtler eye, but for none other Blowing by night in some unbreathed-in clime ; The hidden harvest of luxurious time. Sin without shape, and pleasure without speech ; And where strange dreams in a tumultuous sleep Make the shut eyes of stricken spirits weep ; And with each face thou sawest the shadow on each. Seeing as men sow men reap. 56 AVE ATQJJE VALE IV O sleepless heart and sombre soul unsleeping, That were athirst for sleep and no more life And no more love, for peace and no more strife ! Now the dim gods of death have in their keeping Spirit and body and all the springs of song. Is it well now where love can do no wrong. Where stingless pleasure has no foam or fang Behind the unopening closure of her lips? Is it not well where soul from body slips And flesh from bone divides without a pang As dew from flower-bell drips? It is enough ; the end and the beginning Are one thing to thee, who art past the end. O hand unclasped of unbeholden friend, For thee no fruits to pluck, no palms for winning. No triumph and no labour and no lust, Only dead yew-leaves and a little dust. O quiet eyes wherein the light saith nought, Whereto the day is dumb, nor any night With obscure finger silences your sight. Nor in your speech the sudden soul speaks thought. Sleep, and have sleep for light. 57 AVE ATQ^UE VALE VI Now all strange hours and all strange loves are over, Dreams and desires and sombre songs and sweet, Hast thou found place at the great knees and feet Of some pale Titan-woman like a lover, Such as thy vision here solicited, Under the shadow of her fair vast head. The deep division of prodigious breasts. She solemn slope of mighty limbs asleep, The weight of awful tresses that still keep The savour and shade of old-world pine-forests Where the wet hill-winds weep? VII Hast thou found any likeness for thy vision? O gardener of strange flowers, what bud, what bloom. Hast thou found sown, what gathered in the gloom? What of despair, of rapture, of derision. What of life is there, what of ill or good? Are the fruits grey like dust or bright like blood? Does the dim ground grow any seed of ours. The faint fields quicken an}^ terrene root. In low lands where the sun and moon are mute And all the stars keep silence? Are there flowers At all, or any fruit? 58 AVE ATQJJE VALE VIII Alas, but though my flying song flies after, O sweet strange elder singer, thy more fleet Singing, and footprints of thy fleeter feet. Some dim derision of mysterious laughter From the blind tongueless warders of the dead, Some gainless glimpse of Proserpine's veiled head. Some little sound of unregarded tears Wept by effaced unprofitable eyes, And from pale mouths some cadence of dead sighs — These only, these the hearkening spirit hears. Sees only such things rise. IX Thou art far too far for wings of words to follow. Far too far off for thought or any prayer. What ails us with thee, who art wind and air? What ails us gazing where all seen is hollow? Yet with some fancy, yet with some desire, Dreams pursue death as winds a flying fire. Our dreams pursue our dead and do not find. Still, and more swift than they, the thin flame flies. The low light fails us in elusive skies, Still the foiled earnest ear is deaf, and blind Are still the eluded eyes. 59 AVE ATQJJE VALE Not thee, O never thee, in all time's changes. Not thee, but this the sound of thy sad soul. The shadow of thy swift spirit, this shut scroll I lay my hand on, and not death estranges My spirit from communion of thy song — These memories and these melodies that throng Veiled porches of a Muse funereal — These I salute, these touch, these clasp and fold As though a hand were in my hand to hold, Or through mine ears a mourning musical Of many mourners rolled. XI I among these, I also, in such station As when the pyre was charred, and piled the sods. And offering to the dead made, and their gods, The old mourners had, standing to make libation, I stand, and to the gods and to the dead Do reverence without prayer or praise, and shed Offering to these unknown, the gods of gloom, And what of honey and spice my seedlands bear. And what I may of fruits in this chilled air. And lay, Orestes-like, across the tomb A curl of severed hair. 60 AVE ATQ^UE VALE XII But by no hand nor any treason stricken, Not like the low-lying head of Him, the King, The flame that made of Troy a ruinous thing, Thou liest, and on this dust no tears could quicken There fall no tears like theirs that all men hear Fall tear by sweet imperishable tear Down the opening leaves of holy poets' pages. Thee not Orestes, not Electra mourns ; But bending us-ward with memorial urns The most high Muses that fulfil all ages Weep, and our God's heart yearns. XIII For, sparing of his sacred strength, not often Among us darkling here the lord of light Makes manifest his music and his might In hearts that open and in lips that soften With the soft flame and heat of songs that shine. Thy lips indeed he touched with bitter wine. And nourished them indeed with bitter bread ; Yet surely from his hand thy soul's food came. The fire that scarred thy spirit at his flame Was lighted, and thine hungering heart he fed Who feeds our hearts with feime. 6i AVE ATQJ^E VALE XIV Therefore he too now al thy soul's sunsetting, God of all suns and songs, he too bends down To mix his laurel with thy cypress crown, And save thy dust from blame and from forgetting. Therefore he too, seeing all thou wert and art, Compassionate, with sad and sacred heart, Mourns thee of many his children the last dead, And hallows with strange tears and alien sighs Thine unmelodious mouth and sunless eyes. And over thine irrevocable head Shed light from the under skies. XV And one weeps with him in the ways Lethean, And stains with tears her changing bosom chill ; That obscure Venus of the hollow hill, That thing transformed which was the Cytherean, With lips that lost their Grecian laugh divine Long since, and face no more called Erycine A ghost, a bitter and luxurious god. Thee also with fair flesh and singing spell Did she, a sad and second pre3S compel Into the footless places once more trod, And shadows hot from hell. 62 AVE ATQJJE VALE XVI And now no sacred staff shall break in blossom, No choral salutation lure to light A spirit sick with perfume and sweet night And love's tired eyes and hands and barren bosom. There is no help for these things; none to mend, And none to mar; not all our songs, O friend. Will make death clear or make life durable. Howbeit with rose and ivy and wild vine And with wild notes about this dust of thine At least I fill the place where white dreams dwell And wreathe an unseen shrine. XVII Sleep; and if life was bitter to thee, pardon, If sweet, give thanks ; thou hast no more to live ; And to give thanks is good, and to forgive. Out of the mystic and the mournful garden Where all day through thine hands in barren braid Wove the sick flowers of secrecy and shade. Green buds of sorrow and sin, and remnants grey, Sweet-smelling, pale with poison, sanguine-hearted. Passions that sprang from sleep and thoughts that started, Shall death not bring us all as thee one day Among the days departed ? 63 AVE ATQJUE VALE XVIII For thee, O now a silent soul, my brother, Take at my hands this garland, and farewell. Thin is the leaf, and chill the wintry smell, And chill the solemn earth, a fatal mother, With sadder than the Niobean womb, And in the hollow of her breasts a tomb. Content thee, howsoe'er, whose days are done ; There lies not any troublous thing before, Nor sight nor sound to war against thee more, For whom all winds are quiet as the sun, All waters as the shore. 64 MEMORIAL VERSES ON THE DEATH OF THEOPHILE GAUTIER DEATH, what hast thou to do with me? So saith Love, with eyes set against the face of Death ; What have I done, O thou strong Death, to thee. That mine own Hps should wither from thy breath? Though thou be bHnd as fire or as the sea. Why should thy waves and storms make war on me? Is it for hate thou hast to find me fair, Or for desire to kiss, if it might be, My very mouth of song, and kill me there? So with keen rains vexing his crownless hair, With bright feet bruised from no delightful way. Through darkness and the disenchanted air, Lost Love went weeping half a winter's day. And the armed wind that smote him seemed to say, How shall the dew live when the dawn is fled. Or wherefore should the Mayflower outlast May? 65 MEMORIAL VERSES Then Dealli look Love by the right hand and said, Smiling : Come now and look upon thy dead. But Love cast down the glories of his eyes, And bowed down like a llower his flowerless head. And Death spake, saying : VY'lial ails thee in such wise, Being god, to shut thy sight up from the skies? If thou canst see not, hast thou ears to hear? Or is thy soul too as a leaf that dies ? Even as he spake with fleshless lips of fear, But soft as sleep sings in a tired man's ear, Behold, the winter was not, and its might Fell, and fruits broke forth of the barren year. And upon earth was largess of great light, And moving music winged for world-wide flight, And shapes and sounds of gods beheld and heard. And day's foot set upon the neck of night. And with such song the hollow ways were stirred As of a god's heart hidden in a bird. Or as the whole soul of the sun in spring Should find full utterance in one flower-soft word, And all the season should break forth and sing From one flower's lips, in one rose triumphing ; Such breath and light of song as of a flame Made ears and spirits of them that heard it ring. 66 MEMORIAL VERSES And Love beholding knew not for the same The shape that led him, nor in face nor name, For he was bright and great of thews and fair, And in Love's eyes he was not Death, but Fame. Not that grey ghost whose life is empty and bare And his limbs moulded out of mortal air, A cloud of change that shifts into a shower And dies and leaves no light for time to wear : But a god clothed with his own joy and power, A god re-risen out of his mortal hour Immortal, king and lord of time and space. With eyes that look on them as from a tower. And where he stood the pale sepulchral place Bloomed, as new life might in a bloodless face. And where men sorrowing came to seek a tomb With funeral flowers and tears for grief and grace, They saw with light as of a world in bloom The portal of the House of Fame illume The ways of life wherein we toiling tread. And watched the darkness as a brand consume. And through the gates where rule the deathless dead The sound of a new singer's soul was shed That sang among his kinsfolk, and a beam Shot from the star on a new ruler's head. 67 MEMORIAL VERSES A new star lighting the Lethean stream, A new song mixed into the song supreme Made of all souls of singers and their might, That makes ot" life and time and death a dream. Thy star, thy song, O soul that in our sight Wast as a sun that made for man's delight Flowers and all fruits in season, being so near The sun-god's face, our god that gives us light. To him of all (jods that we love or fear Thou among all men by thy name wast dear, Dear to the god that gives us spirit of song To bind and burn all hearts of men that hear. The god that makes men's words too sweet and strong For lite or time or death to do them wrong, Who sealed with his thy spirit for a sign And filled it with his breath thy whole life long. Who made thy moist lips fiery with new wine Pressed from the grapes of song the sovereign vine, And with all love of all things loveliest Gave thy soul power to make them more divine. That thou might'st breathe upon the breathless rest Of marble, till the brows and lips and breast Felt fall from off them as a cancelled curse That speechless sleep wherewith they lived opprest. 68 MEMORIAL VERSES Who gave thee strength and heat of spirit to pierce All clouds of form and colour that disperse, And leave the spirit of beauty to remould In types of clean chryselephantine verse. Who gave thee words more golden than fine gold To carve in shapes more glorious than of old, And build thy songs up in the sight of time As statues set in godhead manifold : In sight and scorn of temporal change and clime That meet the sun re-risen with refluent rhyme — As god to god might answer face to face — From lips whereon the morning strikes sublime. Dear to the god, our god who gave thee place Among the chosen of days, the royal race, The lords of light, whose eyes of old and ears Saw even on earth and heard him for a space. There are the souls of those once mortal years That wrought with fire of joy and light of tears In words divine as deeds that grew thereof Such music as he swoons with love who hears. There are the lives that lighten from above Our under lives, the spheral souls that move Through the ancient heaven of song-illumined air Whence we that hear them singing die with love. 69 MEMORIAL VERSES There all the crowned Hellenic heads, and there The old gods who made men godlike as they were, The lyric lips wherefrom all songs take fire, Live eyes, and light of Apollonian hair. There, round the sovereign passion of that lyre Which the stars hear and tremble with desire, The ninefold light Pierian is made one That here we see divided, and aspire, Seeing, after this or that crown to be won; But where they hear the singing of the sun, All form, all sound, all colour, and all thought Are as one body and soul in unison. There the song sung shines as a picture wrought. The painted mouths sing that on earth say nought, The carven limbs have sense of blood and growth And large-eyed life that seeks nor lacks not aught. There all the music of thy living mouth Lives, and all loves wrought of thine hand in youth And bound about the breasts and brows with gold And coloured pale or dusk from north or south. Fair living things made to thy will of old, Born of thy lips, no births of mortal mould. That in the world of soncj about tliee wait Where thought and truth are one and manifold. 70 MEMORIAL VERSES Within the graven lintels of the gate That here divides our vision and our fate, The dreams we walk in and the truths of sleep, All sense and spirit have life inseparate. There what one thinks, is his to grasp and keep ; There are no dreams, but ver}' joys to reap, No foiled desires that die before delight. No fears to see across our joys and weep. There hast thou all thy will of thought and sight. All hope for harvest, and all heaven for flight ; The sunrise of whose golden-mouthed glad head To paler songless ghosts was heat and light. Here where the sunset of our year is red Men think of thee as of the summer dead, Gone forth before the snows, before thy day, With unshod feet, with brows unchapleted. Couldst thou not wait till age had wound, they say, Round those wreathed brows his soft white blossoms ? Nay Why shouldst thou vex thy soul with this harsh air, Thy bright-winged soul, once free to take its way? Nor for men's reverence hadst thou need to wear The holy flower of grey time-hallowed hair ; Nor were it fit that aught of thee grew old, Fair lover all thy days of all things fair. 71 MEMORIAL VERSES And hear we not thy words of molten gold Singing? or is their light and heat acold Whereat men warmed their spirits? Nay, for all These yet are with us, ours to hear and hold. The lovely laughter, the clear tears, the call Of love to love on ways where shadows fall, Through doors of dim division and disguise, And music made of doubts unmusical ; The love that caught strange light from death's own eyes,' And filled death's lips with fiery words and sighs. And half asleep let feed from veins of his Her close red warm snake's mouth, Egyptian-wise: And that great night of love more strange than this,* When she that made the whole world's bale and bliss Made king of the whole world's desire a slave. And killed him in mid kingdom with a kiss ; Veiled loves that shifted shapes and shafts, and gave, 3 Laughing, strange gifts to hands that durst not crave, Flowers double-blossomed, fruits of scent and hue Sweet as the bride-bed, stranger than the grave ; I La Morte Amoureuse. 2 Une Nuit de Cl^opStre. 3 Mademoiselle de Maupin. 72 MEMORIAL VERSES All joys and wonders of old lives and new That ever in love's shine or shadow grew, And all the grief whereof he dreams and grieves, And all sweet roots fed on his light and dew ; All these through thee our spirit of sense perceives, As threads in the unseen woof thy music weaves. Birds caught and snared that fill our ears with thee. Bay-blossoms in thy wreath of brow-bound leaves. Mixed with the masque of death's old comedy Though thou too pass, have here our flowers, that we For all the flowers thou gav'st upon thee shed, And pass not crownless to Persephone. Blue lotus-blooms and white and rosy-red We wind with poppies for thy silent head, And on this margin of the sundering sea Leave thy sweet light to rise upon the dead. 73 SONNET (with a copy of mademoiselle de maupin) THIS is the golden book of spirit and sense, The holy writ of beauty ; he that wrought Made it with dreams and faultless words and thought That seeks and finds and loses in the dense Dim air of life that beauty's excellence Wherewith love makes one hour of life distraught And all hours after follow and find not aught. Here is that height of all love's eminence Where man may breathe but for a breathing-space And feel his soul burn as an altar-fire To the unknown God of unachieved desire, And from the middle mystery of the place Watch lights that break, hear sounds as of a quire, Hut see not twice unveiled the veiled God's face. 74 AGE AND SONG (to BARRY CORNWALL) IN vain men tell us time can alter Old loves or make old memories falter, That with the old year the old year's life closes. The old dew still falls on the old sweet flowers, The old sun revives the new-fledged hours. The old summer rears the new-born roses. II Much more a Muse that bears upon her Raiment and wreath and flower of honour. Gathered long since and long since woven. Fades not or falls as fall the vernal Blossoms that bear no fruit eternal, By summer or winter charred or cloven. Ill No time casts down, no time upraises. Such loves, such memories, and such praises, As need no grace of sun or shower, 75 AGE AND SONG No saving screen from frost or thunder, To tend and house around and under The imperishable and fearless flower. IV Old thanks, old thoughts, old aspirations, Outlive men's lives and lives of nations. Dead, but for one thing which survives — The inalienable and unpriced treasure, The old joy of power, the old pride of pleasure, That lives in light above men's lives. 76 IN MEMORY OF BARRY CORNWALL (OCTOBER 4, 1874) IN the garden of death, where the singers whose names are deathless One with another make music unheard of men, Where the dead sweet roses fade not of Hps long breath- less. And the fair eyes shine that shall weep not or change again. Who comes now crowned with the blossom of snow- white years? What music is this that the world of the dead men hears ? II Beloved of men, whose words on our lips were honey. Whose name in our ears and our fathers' ears was sweet. Like summer gone forth of the land his songs made sunny, 77 IN MEMORY OF BARRY CORNWALL To the beautiful veiled bright world where the glad ghosts meet, Child, father, bridegroom and bride, and anguish and rest, No soul shall pass of a singer than this more blest. Ill Blest for the years' sweet sake that were filled and brightened. As a forest with birds, with the fruit and the llower of his song ; For the souls' sake blest that heard, and their cares were lightened, For the hearts' sake blest that have fostered his name so long ; By the living and dead lips blest that have loved his name. And clothed with their praise and crowned with their love for fame. IV Ah, fair and fragrant his fame as flowers that close not, That shrink not by day for heat or for cold by night. As a thought in the heart shall increase when the heart's self knows not. Shall endure in our ears as a sound, in our eyes as a light ; 78 IN MEMORY OF BARRY CORNWALL Shall wax with the years that wane and the seasons' chime, As a white rose thornless that grows in the garden of time. The same year calls, and one goes hence with another. And men sit sad that were glad for their sweet songs' sake ; The same year beckons, and elder with younger brother Takes mutely the cup from his hand that we all shall take.' They pass ere the leaves be past or the snows be come ; And the birds are loud, but the lips that outsang them dumb. VI Time takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous, To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death ; But the flower of their souls he shall take not away to shame us. Nor the lips lack song for ever that now lack breath. For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell, Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we fare- well. J Sydney Dobell died August 22, 1874. 79 EPICEDE (jAMES LORIMER GRAHAM DIED AT FLORENCE, APRIL 30, 1876) LIFE may give for love to death Little ; what are life's gifts wortli To the dead wrapt round with earth ? Yet from lips of living breath Sighs or words we are fain to give, All that yet, while yet we live, Life may give for love to death. Dead so long before his day, Passed out of the Italian sun To the dark where all is done, Fallen upon the verge of May, Here at life's and April's end How should song salute my friend Dead so long before his day? Not a kindlier life or sweeter Time, that lights and quenches men, Now may quench or light again, 80 EPICEDE Mingling with the mystic metre Woven of all men's lives with his Not a clearer note than this, Not a kindlier life or sweeter. In this heavenliest part of earth He that living loved the light, Light and song, may rest aright, One in death, if strange in birth, With the deathless dead that make Life the lovelier for their sake In this heavenliest part of earth. Light, and song, and sleep at last — Struggling hands and suppliant knees Get no goodlier gift than these. Song that holds remembrance fast. Light that lightens death, attend Round their graves who have to friend Light, and song, and sleep at last. 8i TO VICTOR HUGO HE had no children, who for love of men, Being God, endured of Gods such things as thou, Father ; nor on his thunder-beaten brow Fell such a woe as bows thine head again. Twice bowed before, though godlike, in man's ken, And seen too high for any stroke to bow Save this of some strange God's that bends it now The third time with such weight as bruised it then. Fain would grief speak, fain utter for love's sake Some word ; but comfort who might bid thee take? What God in your own tongue shall talk with thee, Showing how all souls that look upon the sun Shall be for thee one spirit and thy son. And thy soul's child the soul of man to be? January 3, 1876. 82 INFERIAE SPRING, and the light and sound of things on earth Requickening, all within our green sea's girth ; A time of passage or a time of birth Fourscore years since as this year, first and last. The sun is all about the world we see, The breath and strength of very spring; and w^e Live, love, and feed on our own hearts ; but he Whose heart fed mine has passed into the past. Past, all things born with sense and blood and breath ; The fiesh hears nought that now the spirit saith. If death be like as birth and birth as death, The first was fair — more fair should be the last. Fourscore years since, and come but one month more The count were perfect of his mortal score Whose sail went seaward yesterday from shore To cross the last of many an unsailed sea. S3 INFERIAE Light, love and labour up to life's last height, These three were stars unsetting in his sight Even as the sun is life and heat and light And sets not nor is dark when dark are we. The life, the spirit, and the work were one That here — ah, who shall say, that here are done Not I, that know not ; father, not thy son, For all the darkness of the night and sea. March 5, 1S77. 84 A BIRTH-SONG (for OLIVIA FRANCES MADOX ROSSETTI, P.ORN SEPTEMBER 20, 1875) o |UT of the dark sweet sleep Where no dreams laugh or weep Borne through bright gates of birth Into the dim sweet light Where day still dreams of night While heaven takes form on earth, White rose of spirit and flesh, red lily of love, What note of song have we Fit for the birds and thee, Fair nestling couched beneath the mother-dove? Nay, in some more divine Small speechless song of thine Some news too good for words. Heart-hushed and smiling, we Might hope to have of thee. The youngest of God's birds. If thy sweet sense might mix itself with ours, If ours might understand The language of thy land. Ere thine become the tongue of mortal hours : 85 A BIRTH-SONG Ere thy lips learn too soon Their soft first human tune, Sweet, but less sweet than now, And thy raised eyes to read Glad and good things indeed. But none so sweet as thou : Ere thought lift up their flower-soft lids to see What life and love on earth Bring thee for gifts at birth. But none so good as thine who hast given us thee : Now, ere thy sense forget The heaven that fills it yet, Now, sleeping or awake, If thou couldst tell, or we Ask and be heard of thee. For love's undying sake, From thy dumb lips divine and bright mute speech Such news might touch our ear That then would burn to hear Too high a message now for man's to reach. Ere the gold hair of corn Had withered wast thou born, To make the good time glad ; The time that but last year Fell colder than a tear On hearts and hopes turned sad, 86 A BIRTH-SONG High hopes and hearts requickening in thy dawn, Even theirs whose life-springs, child, Filled thine with life and smiled, But then wept blood for half their own withdrawn.' If death and birth be one, And set with rise of sun, And truth with dreams divine. Some word might come with thee From over the still sea Deep hid in shade or shine. Crossed by the crossing sails of death and birth, Word of some sweet new thing Fit for such lips to bring. Some word of love, some afterthought of earth. If love be strong as death. By what so natural breath As thine could this be said? By what so lovely way Could love send word to say He lives and is not dead? Such word alone were fit for only thee, If his and thine have met Where spirits rise and set. His whom we see not, thine whom scarce we see : » Oliver Madox Brown died November 5, 1874, in his twentieth year. 87 A BIRTH-SONG His there new-born, as thou New-born among us now ; His, here so fruitful-souled, Now veiled and silent here, Now dumb as thou last year, A ghost of one year old : If lights that change their sphere in changing meet, Some ray might his not give To thine who wast to live, And make thy present with his past life sweet? Let dreams that laugh or weep. All glad and sad dreams, sleep ; Truth more than dreams is dear. Let thoughts that change and fly. Sweet thoughts and swift, go by ; More than all thought is here. More than all hope can forge or memory feign The life that in our eyes, Made out of love's life, lies, And flower-like fed with love for sun and rain. Twice royal in its root The sweet small olive-shoot Here set in sacred earth ; Twice dowered with glorious grace From either heaven-born race First blended in its birth ; 88 A BIRTH-SONG Fair God or Genius of so fair an hour, For love of either name Twice crowned, with love and fame, Guard and be gracious to the fair-named flower. October 19, 1875. 89 EX-VOTO WHEN their last hour shall rise Pale on these mortal eyes, Herself like one that dies, And kiss me dying The cold last kiss, and fold Close round my limbs her cold Soft vshade as raiment rolled And leave them lying. If aught my soul would say Might move to hear me pray The birth-god of my day That he might hearken, This grace my heart should crave. To find no landward grave That worldly springs make brave. World's winters darken. Nor grow through gradual hours The cold blind seed of flowers Made by new beams and showers From limbs that moulder. 90 EX-VOTO Nor take my part with earth, But find for death's new birth A bed of larger girth, More chaste and colder. Not earth's for spring and fall, Not earth's at heart, not all Earth's making, though men call Earth only mother, Not hers at heart she bare Me, but thy child, O fair Sea, and thy brother's care, The wind thy brother. Yours was I born, and ye. The sea-wind and the sea. Made all my soul in me A song for ever, A harp to string and smite For love's sake of the bright Wind and the sea's delight. To fail them never : Not while on this side death I hear what either saith And drink of either's breath With heart's thanksgiving That in my veins like wine Some sharp salt blood of thine, EX-VOTO Some springtide pulse of brine, Yet leaps up living. When thy salt lips wellnigh Sucked in my mouth's last sigh, Grudged I so much to die This death as others? Was it no ease to think The chalice from whose brink Fate gave me death to drink Was thine, — my mother's? Thee too, the all-fostering earth, Fair as thy fairest birth. More than thy worthiest worth, We call, we know thee. More sweet and just and dread Than live men highest of head Or even thy holiest dead Laid low below thee. The sunbeam on the sheaf. The dewfall on the leaf, All joy, all grace, all grief, Are thine for giving ; Of thee our loves are born. Our lives and loves, that mourn And triumph ; tares with corn. Dead seed with living : 92 EX-VOTO All good and ill things done In eyeshot of the sun At last in thee made one Rest well contented ; All words of all man's breath And works he doth or saith, All wholly done to death, None long lamented. A slave to sons of thee, Thou, seeming, yet art free ; But who shall make the sea Serve even in seeming? What plough shall bid it bear Seed to the sun and the air, Fruit for thy strong sons' fare. Fresh wine's foam streaming? What oldworld son of thine. Made drunk with death as wine, Hath drunk the bright sea's brine With lips of laughter? Thy blood they drink ; but he Who hath drunken of the sea Once deeplier than of thee Shall drink not after. Of thee thy sons of men Drink deep, and thirst again ; 93 EX-VOTO For wine in feasts, and then In fields for slaughter ; But thirst shall touch not him Who hath felt with sense grown dim Rise, covering lip and limb, The wan sea's water. All fire of thirst that aches The salt sea cools and slakes More than all springs or lakes, Freshets or shallows ; Wells where no beam can burn Through frondage of the fern That hides from hart and hern The haunt it hallows. Peace with all graves on earth For death or sleep or birth Be alway, one in worth One with another; But when my time shall be, O mother, O my sea, Alive or dead, take me, Me too, my mother. 94 A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND 1HID my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart ; In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred ? What made sleep flutter his wings and part? Only the song of a secret bird. Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart ; Lie still, for the wind on the warm sea dozes, And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? What bids the lids of thy sleep dispart? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land's name that a charm encloses. It never was writ in the traveller's chart, And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is. It never was sold in the merchant's mart. 95 A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard ; No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart, Only the song of a secret bird. ENVOI In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird. 96 CYRIL TOURNEUR A SEA that heaves with horror of the night, As maddened by the moon that hangs aghast With strain and torment of the ravening blast, Haggard as hell, a bleak blind bloody light; No shore but one red reef of rock in sight, Whereon the waifs of many a wreck were cast And shattered in the fierce nights overpast Wherein more souls toward hell than heaven took flirrlit ; And 'twixt the shark-toothed rocks and swallowing shoals A cry as out of hell from all these souls Sent through the sheer gorge of the slaughtering sea, Whose thousand throats, full-fed with life by death, Fill the black air with foam and furious breath ; And over all these one star — Chastity. 97 A BALLAD OF FRANQOIS VILLON PRINCE OF ALL BALLAD-MAKERS BIRD of the bitter bright grey golden morn Scarce risen upon the dusk of dolorous years, First of us all and sweetest singer born Whose far shrill note the world of new men hears Cleave the cold shuddering shade as twilight clears ; When song new-born put off the old world's attire And felt its tune on her changed lips expire, Writ foremost on the roll of them that came Fresh girt for service of the latter lyre, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name! Alas the joy, the sorrow, and the scorn. That clothed thy life with hopes and sins and fears. And gave thee stones for bread and tares for corn And plume-plucked gaol-birds for thy starveling peers Till death dipt close their flight with shameful shears ; Till shifts came short and loves were hard to hire. When lilt of song nor twitch of twangling wire Could buy thee bread or kisses ; when light fame Spurned like a ball and haled through brake and briar, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name ! 98 A BALLAD OF FRANQOIS VILLON Poor splendid wings so frayed and soiled and torn ! Poor kind wild eyes so dashed with light quick tears ! Poor perfect voice, most blithe when most forlorn, That rings athwart the sea whence no man steers Like joy-bells crossed with death-bells in our ears ! What far delight has cooled the fierce desire That like some ravenous bird was strong to tire On that frail flesh and soul consumed with flame, But left more sweet than roses to respire, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name? ENVOI Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire, A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire ; Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame. But from thy feet now death has washed the mire. Love reads out first at head of all our quire, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name. 99 PASTICHE NOW the days are all gone over Of our singing, love by lover, Days of summer-coloured seas Blown adrift through beam and breeze. Now the nights are all past over Of our dreaming, dreams that hover In a mist of fair false things, Nights afloat on wide wan wings. Now the loves with faith for mother, Now the fears with hope for brother, Scarce are with us as strange words, Notes from songs of last year's birds. Now all good that comes or goes is As the smell of last year's roses, As the radiance in our eyes Shot from summer's ere he dies. lOO PASTICHE Now the morning faintlier risen Seems no God come forth of prison, But a bird of plume-plucked wing, Pale with thoughts of evening. Now hath hope, outraced in running, Given the torch up of his cunning And the palm he thought to wear Even to his own strong child — despair. lOI BEFORE SUNSET IN the lower lands of da}' On the hither side of night, There is nothing that will stay, There are all things soft to sight ; Lighted shade and shadowy light In the wayside and the way, Hours the sun has spared to smite. Flowers the rain has left to play. Shall these hours run down and say No good thing of thee and me? Time that made us and will slay Laughs at love in me and thee ; But if here the flowers may see One whole hour of amorous breath, Time shall die, and love shall be Lord as time was over death. I02 SONG LOVE laid his sleepless head On a thorny rosy bed ; And his eyes with tears were red, And pale his lips as the dead. And fear and sorrow and scorn Kept watch by his head forlorn, Till the night was overworn And the world was merry with morn. And Joy came up with the day And kissed Love's lips as he la}^ And the watchers ghostly and grey Sped from his pillow away. And his eyes as the dawn grew bright, And his lips waxed ruddy as light : Sorrow may reign for a night, But day shall bring back delight. 103 A VISION OF SPRING IN WINTER O TENDER time that love thinks long to see, Sweet foot of spring that with her footfall sows Late snowlike flowery leavings of the snows, Be not too long irresolute to be ; 0 mother-month, where have they hidden thee? Out of the pale time of the flowerless rose 1 reach my heart out toward the springtime lands. I stretch my spirit forth to the fair hours. The purplest of the prime ; I lean my soul down over them, with hands Made wide to take the ghostly growths of flowers ; I send my love back to the lovely time. II Where has the greenwood hid thy gracious head? Veiled with what visions while the grey world grieves, Or muffled with what shadows of green leaves, What warm intangible green shadows spread To sweeten the sweet twilight for thy bed? What sleep enchants thee? what delight deceives? 104 A VISION OF SPRING IN WINTER Where the deep clreamHke dew before the dawn Feels not the fingers of the sunlight yet Its silver web unweave, Thy footless ghost on some unfooted lawn Whose air the unrisen sunbeams fear to fret Lives a ghost's life of daylong dawn and eve. Ill Sunrise it sees not, neither set of star, Large nightfall, nor imperial plenilune, Nor strong sweet shape of the full-breasted noon ; But where the silver-sandalled shadows are, Too soft for arrows of the sun to mar, Moves with the mild gait of an ungrown moon : Hard overhead the half-lit crescent swims. The tender-coloured night draws hardly breath, The light is listening ; They watch the dawn of slender-shapen limbs. Virginal, born again of doubtful death. Chill foster-father of the weanling spring. IV As sweet desire of day before the day, As dreams of love before the true love born. From the outer edge of winter overworn The ghost arisen of May before the May Takes through dim air her unawakened way. The gracious ghost of morning risen ere morn. 105 A VISION OF SPRING IN WINTER Willi little unblown breasts and child-eyed looks Following, the very maid, the girl-child spring, Lifts windward her bright brows, Dips her light feet in warm and moving brooks, And kindles with her own mouth's colouring The fearful lirstlings of the plumeless boughs. I seek thee sleeping, and awhile I see, Fair face that art not, how^ thy maiden breath Shall put at last the deadly days to death And fill the fields and fire the woods with thee And seaward hollows where my feet would be When heaven shall hear the word that April saith To change the cold heart of the wear}' time. To stir and soften all the time to tears. Tears joyfuller than mirth ; As even to May's clear height the young days climb With feet not swifter than those tair first years Whose flowers revive not with tliv flowers on earth. VI I would not bid thee, though I might, give back One good thing youth has given and borne away ; I crave not any comfort of the day That is not, nor on time's retrodden track Would turn to meet the white-robed hours or black That long since left me on their mortal way ; 1 06 A VISION OF SPRING IN WINTER Nor light nor love that has been, nor the breath That comes with morning from the sun to be And sets light hope on fire ; No fruit, no flower thought once too fair for death, No flower nor hour once fallen from life's green tree, No leaf once plucked or once fulfilled desire. VII The morning song beneath the stars that fled With twilight througli the moonless mountain air, While youth with burning lips and wreathless hair Sang toward the sun that was to crown his head, Rising ; the hopes that triumphed and fell dead, The sweet swift eyes and songs of hours that were ; These may'st thou not give back for ever ; these, As at the sea's heart all her wrecks lie waste, Lie deeper than the sea ; But flowers thou may'st, and winds, and hours of ease. And all its April to the world thou ma3^'st Give back, and half my April back to me. 107 L CHORIAMBICS 0\"E, what ailed thee to leave life that was made lovely, we thought, with love? What sweet visions of sleep lured thee away, down from the light above? What strange faces of dreams, voices that called, hands that were raised to wave, Lured or led thee, alas, out of the sun, down to the sun- less grave? Ah, thy luminous eyes ! once was their light fed with the fire of day ; Now their shadowy lids cover them close, hush them and hide away. Ah, thy snow-coloured hands ! once were they chains, mighty to bind me fast ; Now no blood in them burns, mindless of love, senseless of passion past. Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me, for me ; Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and lord of thee. io8 CHORIAMBICS Sweet, the kisses of death set on thy lips, colder are they than mine ; Colder surely than past kisses that love poured for thy lips as wine. Lov'st thou death? is his face fairer than love's, brighter to look upon? Seest thou light in his eyes, light by which love's pales and is overshone? Lo, the roses of death, grey as the dust, chiller of leaf than snow ! Why let fall from thy hand love's that were thine, roses that loved thee so? Large red lilies of love, sceptral and tall, lovely for eyes to see ; Thornless blossom of love, full of the sun, fruits that were reared for thee. Now death's poppies alone circle thy hair, girdle thy breasts as white ; Bloodless blossoms of death, leaves that have sprung never against the light. Nay then, sleep if thou wilt; love is content; what should he do to weep? Sweet was love to thee once ; now in thine eyes sweeter than love is sleep. 109 AT PARTING FOR a day and a night Love sang to us, played with us, Folded us round tVom the dark and the light ; And our hearts were fulfilled of the music he made with us. Made with our hearts and our lips while he stayed with us, Sta3'ed in mid passage his pinions from flight For a day and a night. From his foes that kept watch with his wings had he hidden us, Covered us close from the eyes that would smite, From the feet that had tracked and the tongues that had chidden us Sheltering in shade of the myrtles forbidden us Spirit and flesh growing one with delight For a day and a night. But his wings will not rest and his feet will not stay for us : Morning is here in the joy of its might; With his breath has he sweetened a night and a day for us ; Now let him pass, and the myrtles make way for us ; Love can but last in us here at his height For a day and a night. no A SONG IN SEASON T' 'HOU whose beauty Knows no duty Due to love that moves thee never ; Thou whose mercies Are men's curses, And thy smile a scourge for ever ; II Thou that givest Death and livest On the death of thy sweet giving ; Thou that sparest Not nor carest Though thy scorn leave no love living ; III Thou whose rootless Flower is fruitless As the pride its heart encloses, III A SONG IN SEASON But thine eyes are As May skies are, And thy words like spoken roses ; IV Thou whose grace is In men's faces Fierce and wayward as thy will is ; Thou whose peerless Eyes are tearless, And thy thoughts as cold sweet lilies ; Thou that takest Hearts and makest Wrecks of loves to strew behind thee, Whom the swallow Sure should follows Finding summer where we find thee ; VI Thou that wakest Hearts and breakest. And thy broken hearts forgive thee, That wilt make no Pause and take no Gift that love for love might give thee ; 112 A SONG IN SEASON VII Thou that bindest Eyes and blindest, Serving worst who served thee longest ; Thou that speakest, And the weakest Heart is his that was the strongest ; VIII Take in season Thought with reason ; Think what gifts are ours for giving ; Hear what beauty Owes of duty To the love that keeps it living. IX Dust that covers Long dead lovers Song blows off with breath that brightens ; At its- flashes Their white ashes Burst in bloom that lives and lightens. X Had they bent not Head or lent not Ear to love and amorous duties, 113 A SONG IN SEASON Song had never Saved for ever, Love, the least of all their beauties. XI All the golden Names of olden Women yet by men's love cherished. All our dearest Thoughts hold nearest, Had they loved not, all had perished. XII If no fruit is Of thy beauties. Tell me yet, since none may win them, What and wherefore Love should care for Of all good things hidden in them ? XIII Pain for profit Comes but of it. If the lips that lure their lover's Hold no treasure Past the measure Of the lightest hour that hovers. 114 A SONG IN SEASON XIV If they give not Or forgive not Gifts or thefts for grace or guerdon, Love that misses Fruit of kisses Long will bear no thankless burden. XV If they care not Though love were not, If no breath of his burn through them, Joy must borrow Song from sorrow, Fear teach hope the way to woo them. XVI Grief has measures Soft as pleasure's, Fear has moods that hope lies deep in, Songs to sing him. Dreams to bring him, And a red-rose bed to sleep in. XVII Hope with fearless Looks and tearless Lies and laughs too near the thunder ; 115 A SONG IN SEASON Fear hath sweeter Speech and meeter For lieart's love to hide him under. XVIII Joy by daytime Fills his playtime Full of songs loud mirth takes pride in ; Night and morrow Weave round sorrow Thoughts as soft as sleep to hide in. XIX Graceless faces, Loveless graces, Are but motes in light that quicken, Sands that run down Ere the sundown, Rose-leaves dead ere autumn sicken. XX Fair and fruitless Charms are bootless Spells to ward off age's peril ; Lips that give not Love shall live not. Eyes that meet not eyes are sterile. ii6 A SONG IN SEASON XXI But the beauty Bound in duty Fast to love that falls off never Love shall cherish Lest it perish, And its root bears fruit for ever. 117 TWO LEADERS /Sare Sifwv, fjLeydXoi (piXorlnoi NuKT^j iratSts &iraidfs, inr^ evut pray to God that he forgive us all. The rain has washed and laundered us all five. And the sun dried and blackened ; yea, perdie. Ravens and pies with beaks that rend and rive Have dug our eyes out, and plucked oft' for fee Our beards and eyebrows ; never are we free. Not once, to rest; but here and there still sped, Drive at its wild will by the wind's change led, More pecked of birds than fruits on garden-wall ; Men, for God's love, let no gibe here be said, But pray to God that he tbrgive us all. Prince Jesus, that of all art lord and head. Keep us, that hell be not our bitter bed ; We have nought to do in such a master's hall. Be not ye therefore of our fellowhead, But pray to God that he forgive us all. 170 FROM VICTOR HUGO TAKE heed of this small child of earth ; He is great: he hath in him God most high. Children before their fleshly birth Are lights alive in the blue sky. In our light bitter world of wrong They come ; God gives us them awhile. His speech is in their stammering tongue, And his forgiveness in their smile. Their sweet light rests upon our eyes. Alas ! their right to joy is plain. If they are hungry, Paradise Weeps, and, if cold, Heaven thrills with pain. The want that saps their sinless flower Speaks judgment on sin's ministers. Man holds an angel in his power. Ah ! deep in Heaven what thunder stirs, When God seeks out these tender tilings Whom in the shadow where we sleep He sends us clothed about with wings. And finds them ragged babes that weep ! 171 NOCTURNE LA nuit ecoule et se penche sur I'onde Pour y cueillir rien qu'un souffle d'amour ; Pas de lueur, pas de musique au monde, Pas de sommeil pour moi ni de sejour. O mere, 6 Nuit, de ta source profonde Verse-nous, verse enfin I'oubli du jour. Verse I'oubli de I'angoisse et du jour : Chante ; ton chant assoupit I'ame et I'onde : Fais de ton sein pour mon ame un sejour, Elle est bien lasse, 6 mere, de ce monde, Ou le baiser ne veut pas dire amour, Ou I'ame aimee est moins que toi profonde. Car toute chose aimee est moins profonde, O Nuit, que toi, fille et mere du jour; Toi dont I'attente est le repit du monde, Toi dont le souffle est plein de mots d'amour, Toi dont I'haleine enfle et reprime I'onde, Toi dont Fombre a tout le ciel pour sejour. 172 NOCTURNE La misere humble et lasse, sans sejonr, S'abrite et dort sous ton aile profonde ; Tu fais a tous I'aumone de I'amour ; Toutes les soifs viennent boire a ton onde, Tout ce qui pleure et se derobe au jour, Toutes les faims et tous les maux du monde. Moi seul je veille et ne vois dans ce monde Que ma douleur qui n'ait point de sejour Ou s'abriter sur ta rive profonde Et s'endormir sous tes yeux loin du jour ; Je vais toujours cherchant au bord de Tonde Le sang du beau pied blesse de I'amour. La mer est sombre ou tu naquis, amour, Pleine des pleurs et des sanglots du monde ; On ne voit plus le gouffre ou nait le jour Luire et fremir sous ta lueur profonde ; Mais dans les coeurs d'homme ou tu fais sejour La douleur monte et baisse comme una onde. ENVOI Fille de Tonde et mere de I'amour, Du haul sejour plein de ta paix profonde Sur ce bas monde epands un peu de jour. 173 THfiOPHILE GAUTIER POUR mettre une couronne au front d'une chanson, II semblait qu'en passant son pied semat des roses, Et que sa main cueillit comme des fleurs ecloses Les etoiles an fond du ciel en floraison. Sa parole de marbre et d'or avait le son Des clairons de I'ete chassant les jours moroses ; Comme en Thrace Apollon banni des grands cieux roses, II regardait du cocur TOlympe, sa maison. Le soleil fut pour lui le soleil du vieux monde, Et son oeil recherchait dans les Hots embrases Le sillon immortel d'oii s'elanga sur I'onde Venus, que la mer molle enivrait de baisers : Enfin, dieu ressaisi de sa splendeur premiere, II trone, et son sepulcre est bati de lumiere. 174 ODE (le tombeau de theophile gautikr) QUELLE fleiir, 6 Mort, quel joyau, quel chant, Quel vent, quel rayon de soleil couchant, Sur ton front penche, sur ta main avide, Sur I'apre paleur de ta levre aride, Vibre encore et luit? Ton sein est sans lait, ton oreille est vide, Ton oeil plein de nuit. Ta bouche est sans souffle et ton front sans ride ; Mais I'eclair voile d'une flamme humide, Flamme eclose au coeur d'un ciel pluvieux, Rallume ta levre et remplit tes yeux De lueurs d'opale ; Ta bouche est vermeille et ton front joyeux, O toi qui fus pale. Comme aux jours divins la mere des dieux, Reine au sein fecond, au corps radieux, Tu surgis au bord de la tombe amere ; 175 ODE Tu nous apparais, 6 Mort, vierge et mere, ErtVoi des humains, Le divin laurier sur la lete altiere Et la Ivre aux mains. Nous reconnaissons, courbes vers la terre, Que c'est la splendeur de ta face austere Qiii dore la nuit de nos longs malheurs ; Qiie la vie ailee aux mille couleurs, Dont tu n'es que I'ame, Refait par tes mains les pres et les lleurs, La rose et la femme. Lune constante ! astre ami des douleurs Qui luis a travers la brume des pleurs ! Quelle flamme au fond de ta clarte molle Eclate et rougit, nouvelle aureole, Ton doux front voile? Quelle etoile, ouvrant ses ailes, s'envole Du ciel etoile? Pleurant ce rayon de jour qu"on lui vole, L'iiomme execre en vain la Mort triste et folle Mais I'astre qui fut a nos yeux si beau, La-haut, loin d'ici, dans un ciel nouveau Plein d'autres etoiles, Se leve, et pour lui la nuit du tombcau Entr'ouvre ses voiles. 176 ODE L'ame est dans le corps comme un jeune oiseau Dont I'aile s'agite au bord du berceau ; La mort, deliant cette aile inquiete, Quand nous ecoutons la bouche muette Qui nous dit adieu, Fait de I'homme infime et sombre un poete, Du poete un dieu. 177 IN OBITUM THEOPHILI POET^ OLUX Pieridum et laurigeri deliciae del, Vox leni Zephyro lenior, ut veris amans novi Tollit floridulis implicitum primitiis caput, Ten' ergo abripuit non rediturum, ut redeunt novo Flores vere novi, te quoque mors irrevocabilem? Cur vatem neque te Musa parens, te neque Gratiic, Nee servare sibi te potuit fidum animi Venus? Qj,ue nunc ipsa magis vel puero te Cinyreio, Te desiderium et flebilibus lumen amoribus, Amissum queritur, sanguineis lusa comam genis. Tantis tu lacrymis digne, comes dulcis Apollini, Carum nomen eris dis superis atque sodalibus Nobis, quis eadem quas tibi vivo patuit via Non asquispatet, at te sequimur passibus hand tuis, At ma^sto cinerem carmine non illacrymabilem Tristesque exuvias floribus ac fletibus integris Una contegimus, nee cithara nee sine tibia, Votoque unanima.^ vocis Ave dicimus et Vale. 178 AD CATULLUM CATULLE frater, ut velim comes tibi Remota per vireta, per cavum nemus Sacrumque Ditis haud inhospiti specus, Pedem referre, trans aquam Stygis ducem Secutus iinum et unicum Catulle, te, Ut ora vatis optimi reviserem, Tui meique vatis ora, quern scio Venustiorem adisse vel tuo lacum, Benigniora semper arva vel tuis, Ubi serenus accipit suos deus, Tegitque myrtus implicata laurea, Manuque mulcet halituque consecrat Fovetque blanda mors amabili sinu, Et ore fama fervido colit viros Alitque qualis unus ille par tibi Britannus unicusque in orbe pra;stitit Amicus ille noster, ille ceteris Poeta major, omnibusque iloribus Priore Landor inclytum rosa caput Revinxit extulitque, quam tua manu Recepit ac refovit integram sua. 179 DEDICATION 1878 SOME nine years gone, as we dwelt together In the sweet hushed heat of the south French weather Ere autumn fell on the vine-tressed hills Or the season had shed one rose-red feather, Friend, whose fame is a flame that fills All eyes it lightens and hearts it thrills With joy to be born of the blood which bred From a land that the grey sea girds and chills The heart and spirit and hand and head Whose might is as light on a dark day shed, On a day now dark as a land's decline Where all the peers of your praise are dead, In a land and season of corn and vine I pledged 3'ou a hea^lth from a beaker of mine But half-way filled to the lip's edge yet With hope for honey and song for wine. 181 DEDICATION Nine years have risen and eight years set Since there by the wellspring our hands on it met : And the pledge of my songs that were then to be, I could wonder not, friend, though a friend should forget. For life's helm rocks to the windward and lee, And time is as wind, and as waves are we ; And song is as foam that the sea-winds fret. Though the thought at its heart should be deep as the sea. 182 POEMS AND BALLADS THIRD SERIES WILLIAM BELL SCOTT POET AND PAINTER I DEDICATE THESE POEMS IX MEMORY OF MANY YEARS MARCH: AN ODE 1887 ERE frost-flower and snow-blossom faded and fell, and the splendour of winter had passed out of sight, The ways of the woodlands were fairer and stranger than dreams that fulfil us in sleep with delight ; The breath of the mouths of the winds had hardened on tree-tops and branches that glittered and swayed Such wonders and glories of blossomlike snow or of frost that outlightens all flowers till it fade That the sea was not lovelier than here was the land, nor the night than the day, nor the day than the night, Nor the winter sublimer with storm than the spring : such mirth had the madness and might in thee made, March, master of winds, bright minstrel and marshal of storms that enkindle the season they smite. II And now that the rage of thy rapture is satiate with revel and ravin and spoil of the snow, 187 MARCH: AN ODE And the branches it brightened are broken, and shattered tlie tree-tops that only thy wrath could lay low, How should not thy lovers rejoice in thee, leader and lord of the year that exults to be born So strong in thy strength and so glad of thy gladness whose laughter puts winter and sorrow to scorn? Thou hast shaken the snows from thy wings, and the frost on thy forehead is molten : thy lips are aglow As a lover's that kindle with kissing, and earth, with her raiment and tresses yet wasted and torn. Takes breath as she smiles in the grasp of thy passion to feel through her spirit the sense of thee flow. Ill Fain, fain would we see but again for an hour what the wind and the sun have dispelled and consumed. Those full deep swan-soft feathers of snow with whose luminous burden the branches implumed Hung heavily, curved as a half-bent bow, and fledged not as birds are, but petalled as flowers. Each tree-top and branchlet a pinnacle jewelled and carved, or a fountain that shines as it showers. But fixed as a fountain is fixed not, and wrought not to last till by time or by tempest entombed, As a pinnacle carven and gilded of men : for the date of its doom is no more than an hour's. One hour of the sun's when the warm wind wakes him to wither the snow-flowers that froze as they bloomed. i88 MARCH: AN ODE IV As the sunshine quenches the snowshine ; as April sub- dues thee, and yields up his kingdom to May ; So time overcomes the regret that is born of delight as it passes in passion away, And leaves but a dream for desire to rejoice in or mourn for with tears or thanksgivings ; but thou, Bright god that art gone from us, maddest and gladdest of months, to what goal hast thou gone from us now ? For somewhere surely the storm of thy laughter that lightens, the beat of thy wings that play. Must flame as a fire through the world, and the heavens that we know not rejoice in thee : surely thy brow Hath lost not its radiance of empire, thy spirit the joy that impelled it on quest as for prey. Are thy feet on the ways of the limitless waters, thy wings on the winds of the waste north sea? Are the fires of the false north dawn over heavens where summer is stormful and strong like thee Now bright in the sight of thine eyes? are the bastions of icebergs assailed by the blast of thy breath? Is it March with the wild north world when April is waning? the word that the changed year saith, Is it echoed to northward with rapture of passion reiterate from spirits triumphant as we 189 MARCH: AN ODE Whose hearts were uplift at the blast of thy clarions as men's rearisen from a sleep that was death And kindled to life that was one with the world's and with ihine? hast thou set not the whole world free? VI For the breath of thy lips is freedom, and freedom's the sense of thy spirit, the sound of thy song, Glad god of the north-east wind, whose heart is as high as the hands of thy kingdom are strong, Thy kingdom whose empire is terror and joy, twin- featured and fruitful of births divine, Days lit with the flame of the lamps of the flowers, and nights that are drunken with dew for wine, And sleep not for joy of the stars that deepen and quicken, a denser and fierier throng, And the world that thy breath bade whiten and tremble rejoices at heart as they strengthen and shine, And earth gives thanks for the glory bequeathed her, and knows of thy reign that it wrought not wrong. VII Thy spirit is quenched not, albeit we behold not thy face in the crown of the steep sky's arch, And tile bold first buds of the whin wax golden, and witness arise of the thorn and the larch : Wild April, enkindled to laughter and storm by the kiss of the wildest of winds that blow, 190 MARCH: AN ODE Calls loud on his brother for witness ; his hands that were laden with blossom are sprinkled with snow, And his lips breathe winter, and laugh, and relent ; and the live woods feel not the frost's flame parch ; For the flame of the spring that consumes not but quickens is felt at the heart of the forest aglow, And the sparks that enkindled and fed it were strewn from the hands of the gods of the winds of March. 191 THE COMMONWEAL 1887 EIGHT hundred years and twenty-one Have shone and sunken since the land Whose name is freedom bore such brand As marks a captive, and the sun Beheld her fettered hand. II But ere dark time had shed as rain Or sown on sterile earth as seed That bears no fruit save tare and weed An age and half an age again, She rose on Runnymede. Ill Out of the shadow, starlike still. She rose up radiant in her right, And spake, and put to fear and iliglit The lawless rule of awless will That pleads no right save might. 192 THE COMMONWEAL IV Nor since hath England ever borne The burden laid on subject lands, The rule that curbs and binds all hands Save one, and marks for servile scorn The heads it bows and brands. A commonweal arrayed and crowned With gold and purple, girt with steel At need, that foes must fear or feel, We find her, as our fathers found, Earth's lordliest commonweal. VI And now that fifty years are flown Since in a maiden's hand the sign Of empire that no seas confine First as a star to seaward shone, We see their record shine. VII A troubled record, foul and fair, A simple record and serene. Inscribes for praise a blameless queen. For praise and blame an age of care And chanije and ends unseen. 193 THE COMMONWEAL VIII Hope, wide of eye and wild of wing, Rose with the sundawn of a reign Whose grace should make the rough w^ays plain, And fill the worn old world with spring. And heal its heart of pain. IX Peace was to be on earth ; men's hope Was holier than their fathers had, Their wisdom not more wise than glad : They saw the gates of promise ope. And heard what love's lips bade. Love armed with knowledge, winged and wise, Should hush the wind of war, and see, They said, the sun of days to be Bring round beneath serener skies A stormless jubilee. XI Time, in the darkness unbeholden That hides him from the sight of fear And lets but dreaming hope draw near. Smiled and was sad to hear such golden Strains hail the all-golden year. 194 THE COMMONWEAL N XII Strange clouds have risen between, and wild Red stars of storm that lit the abyss Wherein fierce fraud and violence kiss And mock such promise as beguiled The fiftieth year from this. XIII War upon war, change after change, Hath shaken thrones and tow^ers to dust. And hopes austere and faiths august Have watched in patience stern and strange Men's works unjust and just. XIV As from some Alpine watch-tower's portal Night, living yet, looks forth for dawn, So from time's mistier mountain lawn The spirit of man, in trust immortal, Yearns toward a hope withdrawn. XV The morning comes not, yet the night Wanes, and men's eyes win strength to see Where twilight is, where light shall be When conquered wrong and conquering right Acclaim a world set free. • 195 rili: COMMONWEAL XVI Calm as our mother-land, the mother Of faith and freedom, pure and wise, Keeps watch bencatli unchangeful skies, When hath she watched the woes of other Strange lands with alien eyes? XVII Calm as she stands alone, what nation I lath lacked an alms from En<{lish hands? What exiles from what stricken lands Have lacked the shelter of the station Where higher than all she stands? XVIII Though time discrown and change dismantle The pride of thrones and towers that frown, How should they bring her glories down — The sea cast round her like a mantle. The sea-cloud like a crown? XIX The sea, divine as heaven and deathless. Is hers, and none but only she Hath learnt the sea's word, none but we Her children hear in heart the breathless Bright watchword of the sea. 196 THE COMMONWEAL XX Heard not of others, or misheard Of many a land for many a year, The watchword Freedom fails not here Of hearts that witness if the word Find faith in England's ear. XXI She, first to love the light, and daughter Incarnate of the northern dawn, She, round whose feet the wild waves fawn When all their wrath of warring water Sounds like a babe's breath drawn, XXII How should not she best know, love best, And best of all souls understand The very soul of freedom, scanned Far off, sought out in darkling quest By men at heart unmanned? XXIII They climb and fall, ensnared, enshrouded. By mists of words and toils they set To take themselves, till fierce regret Grows mad with shame, and all their clouded Red skies hang sunless yet. 197 THE COMMONWEAL XXIV But us the sun, not wholl}' risen Nor equal now for all, illumes With more of light than cloud that looms ; Of light that leads forth souls from prison And breaks the seals of tombs. XXV Did not her breasts who reared us rear Him who took heaven in hand, and weighed Brifiht world with world in balance laid? What Newton's might could make not clear Hath Darwin's mifrht not made? XXVI The forces of the dark dissolve. The doorways of the dark are broken : The word that casts out night is spoken. And whence the springs of things evolve Li(jht born of nirjht bears token. XXVII She, loving light for light's sake onl}-, And truth for only truth's, and song For song's sake and the sea's, how long Hath she not borne the world her lonely Witness of right and wrong? 198 THE COMMONWEAL XXVIII From light to light her eyes imperial Turn, and require the further light, More perfect than the sun's in sight, Till star and sun seem all funereal Lamps of the vaulted night. XXIX She gazes till the strenuous soul Within the rapture of her eyes Creates or bids awake, arise. The light she looks for, pure and whole And worshipped of the wise. XXX Such sons are hers, such radiant hands Have borne abroad her lamp of old, Such mouths of honey-dropping gold Have sent across all seas and lands Her fame as music rolled. XXXI As music made of rolling thunder That hurls through heaven its heart sublime, Its heart of joy, in charging chime, So ring the songs that round and under Her temple surge and climb. 199 THE COMMONWEAL XXXII A temple not by men's hands builded, But moulded of the spirit, and wrought Of passion and imperious thought ; With light beyond all sunlight gilded, Whereby the sun seems nought. XXXIII Thy shrine, our mother, seen for fairer Than even thy natural face, made fair With kisses of thine April air Even now, when spring thy banner-bearer Took up thy sign to bear ; XXXIV Thine annual sign from heaven's own arch Given of the sun's hand into thine, To rear and cheer each vvildwood shrine But now laid waste by wild-winged March, Marcli, mad with wind like wine. XXXV From all thy brightening downs whereon The windy seaward whin-flower shows Blossom whose pride strikes pale the rose Forth is the golden watchword gone Whert-at the world's face trlows. 200 THE COMMONWEAL XXXVI Thy quickening woods rejoice and ring Till earth seems glorious as the sea : With yearning love too glad for glee The world's heart quivers toward the spring As all our hearts toward thee. XXXVII Thee, mother, thee, our queen, who givest Assurance to the heavens most high And earth whereon her bondsmen sigh That by the sea's grace while thou livest Hope shall not wholly die. XXXVIII That while thy free folk hold the van Of all men, and the sea-spray shed As dew more heavenly on thy head Keeps bright thy face in sight of man, Man's pride shall drop not dead. XXXIX A pride more pure than humblest prayer, More wise than wisdom born of doubt, Girds for thy sake men's hearts about With trust and triumph that despair And fear may cast not out. 20I THE COMMONWEAL XL Despair may wring men's hearts, and fear Bow down their heads to kiss the dust, Where patriot memories rot and rust, And chanixe makes faint a nation's cheer, And faith 3nelds up her trust. XLI Not here this year have true men known, Not here this year may true men know, That brand of shame-compelling woe Which bids but brave men shrink or groan And lays but honour low^ XLII The strong spring wind blows notes of praise. And hallowing pride of heart, and cheer Unchanging, toward all true men here Who hold the trust of ancient days High as of old this year. XLIII The days that made thee great are dead ; The days that now must keep thee great Lie not in keeping of thy fate ; In thine they lie, whose heart and head Sustain th}^ charge of state 202 THE COMMONWEAL XLIV No state so proud, no pride so just, The sun, through clouds at sunrise curled Or clouds across the sunset whirled, Hath sight of, nor has man such trust As thine in all the world. XLV Each hour that sees the sunset's crest Make bright th}- shores ere day decline Sees dawn the sun on shores of thine, Sees west as east and east as west On thee their sovereign shine. XLVI The sea's own heart must needs wax proud To have borne the world a child like thee. What birth of earth might ever be Thy sister? Time, a wandering cloud. Is sunshine on thy sea. XLVI I Change mars not her ; and thee, our mother. What change that irks or moves thee mars? What shock that shakes? what chance that jars? Time gave thee, as he gave none other, A station like a star's. 203 THE COMMONWEAL XLVIII The storm that shrieks, the wind that wages War with the wings of hopes that climb Too high toward heaven in doubt sublime, Assail not thee, approved of ages The towering crown of time. XLIX Toward thee this year thy children turning With souls uplift of changeless cheer Salute with love that casts out fear, With hearts for beacons round thee burning, The token of this year. With just and sacred jubilation Let earth sound answer to the sea For witness, blown on winds as free, How England, how her crowning nation, Acclaims this jubilee. 204 THE ARMADA 1588: 1888 I ENGLAND, mother born of seamen, daughter fostered of the sea, Mother more beloved than all who bear not all their children free, Reared and nursed and crowned and cherished by the sea-wind and the sun. Sweetest land and strongest, face most fair and mightiest heart in one. Stands not higher than when the centuries known of earth were less by three. When the strength that struck the whole world pale fell back from hers undone. II At her feet were the heads of her foes bowed down, and the strengths of the storm of them stayed. And the hearts that were touched not with mercy with terror were touched and amazed and affrayed : 205 THE ARMADA Yea, hearts that had never been molten with pity were molten with fear as with flame, And the priests of the Godhead whose temple is hell, and his heart is of iron and fire, And the swordsmen that served and the seamen that sped them, whom peril could tame not or tire, Were as foam on the winds of the w^aters of England w'hich tempest can tire not or tame. Ill They were girded about with thunder, and lightning came forth of the rage of their strength. And the measure that measures the wings of the storm was the breadth of their force and the length : And the name of their might was Invincible, covered and clothed with the terror of God ; With his wrath were they winged, with his love were they fired, with the speed of his winds were they shod ; With his soul were they filled, in his trust were they comforted : grace was upon them as night, And faith as the blackness of darkness : the fume of their balefires was fair in his sight. The reek of them sweet as a savour of mvrrh in his nostrils : the world that he made. Theirs was it by gift of his servants : the wind, if they spake in his name, was afraid, 206 THE ARMADA And the sun was a shadow before it, the stars were astonished with fear of it : fire Went up to them, fed with men living, and lit of men's hands for a shrine or a pyre ; And the east and the west wind scattered their ashes abroad, that his name should be blest Of the tribes of the chosen whose blessings are curses from uttermost east unto west. 207 THE ARMADA II Ilell for Spain, and heaven for England, — God to God, and man to man, — Met confronted, light with darkness, life with death : since time began, Never earth nor sea beheld so great a stake before them set, Save when Athens hurled back Asia from the lists wherein they met ; Never since the sands of ages through the glass of history ran Saw the sun in heaven a lordlier day than this that lights us yet. II For the light that abides upon England, the glory that rests on her godlike name. The pride that is love and the love that is faith, a perfume dissolved in flame, Took fire from the dawn of the fierce July when fleets were scattered as foam And squadrons as flakes of spra}' ; when galleon and galliass that shadowed the sea Were swept from her waves like shadows that pass with tlie clouds tliey fell from, and she 208 THE ARMADA Laughed loud to the wind as it gave to her keeping the glories of Spain and Rome. Ill Three hundred summers have fallen as leaves by the storms in their season thinned, Since northward the war-ships of Spain came sheer up the way of the south-west wind : Where the citadel cliffs of England are flanked with bastions of serpentine, Far off to the windward loomed their hulls, an hundred and twenty-nine, All filled full of the war, full-fraught with battle and charged with bale ; Then store-ships weighted with cannon ; and all were an hundred and fifty sail. The measureless menace of darkness anhungered with- hope to prevail upon light, The shadow of death made substance, the present and visible spirit of night, Came, shaped as a waxing or waning moon that rose with the fall of day, To the channel where couches the Lion in guard of the gate of the lustrous bay. Fair England, sweet as the sea that shields her, and pure as the sea from stain. Smiled, hearing hardly for scorn that stirred her the menace of saintly Spain. , 209 THE ARMADA III ' They that ride over ocean wide with hempen bridle and horse of tree,' How shall they in the darkening day of wrath and an- guish and fear go free? How shall these that have curbed the seas not feel his bridle who made the sea? God shall bow them and break them now : for what is man in the Lord God's sight? Fear shall shake them, and shame shall break, and all the noon of their pride be night: These that sinned shall the ravening wind of doom bring under, and judgment smite. England broke from her neck the yoke, and rent the fetter, and mocked the rod : Shrines of old that she decked with gold she turned to dust, to the dust she trod : What is she, that the wind and sea should fight beside her, and war with God? Lo, the cloud of his ships that crowd her channel's inlet with storm sublime, 2IO THE ARMADA Darker far than the tempests are that sweep the skies of , her northmost clime ; Huge and dense as the walls that fence the secret dark- ness of unknown time- Mast on mast as a tower goes past, and sail by sail as a cloud's wing spread ; Fleet by fleet, as the throngs whose feet keep time with death in his dance of dread ; Galleons dark as the helmsman's bark of old that ferried to hell the dead. Squadrons proud as their lords, and loud with tramp of soldiers and chant of priests ; Slaves there told by the thousandfold, made fast in bondage as herded beasts ; Lords and slaves that the sw^eet free waves shall feed on, satiate with funeral feasts. Nay, not so shall it be, they know ; their priests have said it; can priesthood lie? God shall keep them, their God shall sleep not : peril and evil shall pass them by : Nay, for these are his children ; seas and winds shall bid not his children die. II So they boast them, the monstrous host whose menace mocks at the dawn : and here 211 THE ARMADA They that wait at the wild sea's J^ate, and watch the darkness of doom draw near, How shall they in their evil day sustain the strength of their hearts for tear? Full Julv in the fervent sky sets forth her twentieth of chano[in(T morns : Winds fall mild that of late waxed wild : no presage whispers or wails or warns : Far to west on the bland sea's breast a sailing crescent uprears her horns. Seven wide miles the serene sea smiles between them stretching from rim to rim : Soft they shine, but a darker sign should bid not hope or belief wax dim : God's are these men, and not the sea's : their trust is set not on her but him. God's? but who is the God whereto the prayers and incense of these men rise? What is he, that the wind and sea should fear him, quelled by his sunbright eyes? What, that men should return again, and hail him Lord of the servile skies? Hell's own flame at his heavenly name leaps higher and laughs, and its gulfs rejoice : Plague and death from his baneful breath take life and lighten, and praise his choice : 212 THE ARMADA Chosen are they to devour for prey the tribes that hear not and fear his voice. Ay, but we that the wind and sea gird round with shel- ter of storms and waves Know not him that ye worship, grim as dreams that quicken from dead men's graves : God is one with the sea, the sun, the hmd that nursed us, the love that saves. Love whose heart is in ours, and part of all things noble and all things fair ; Sweet and free as the circling sea, sublime and kind as the fostering air ; Pure of shame as is England's name, whose crowns to come are as crowns that were. 213 THE ARMADA IV But the Lord of darkness, the God whose love is a flaming fire, The master whose mercy fulfils wide hell till its torturers tire. He shall surely have heed of his servants who serve him for love, not hire. The}' shall fetter the wing of the wind w^hose pinions are plumed with foam : For now^ shall thy horn be exalted, and now shall thy bolt strike home ; Yea, now shall thy kingdom come, Lord God of the priests of Rome. They shall cast thy curb on the waters, and bridle the waves of the sea : They shall say to her, Peace, be still : and stillness and peace shall be : And the winds and the storms shall hear them, and tremble, and worship thee. Thy breath shall darken the morning, and wither the mounting sun ; 2 1. 1 THE ARMADA And the dayspriiigs, frozen and fettered, shall know thee, and cease to run ; The heart of the world shall feel thee, and die, and thy will be done. The spirit of man that would sound thee, and search out causes of things, Shall shrink and subside and praise thee ; and wisdom, with plume-plucked wings. Shall cower at thy feet and confess thee, that none may fathom thy springs. The fountains of song that await but the wind of an April to be To burst the bonds of the winter, and speak with the sound of a sea. The blast of thy mouth shall quench them : and song shall be only of thee. The days that are dead shall quicken, the seasons that were shall return ; And the streets and the pastures of England, the woods that burgeon and yearn. Shall be whitened with ashes of women and children and men that burn. For the mother shall burn with the babe sprung forth of her w^omb in tire. And bride with bridegroom, and brother with sister, and son with sire ; 215 THE ARMADA And the noise of the flames shall be sweet in thine ears as the sound of a lyre. Vea, so shall thy kingdom be stablished, and so shall the sijjns of it be : And the world shall know, and the wind shall speak, and the sun shall see, That these are the works of thy servants, whose works bear witness to thee. II But the dusk of the day falls fruitless, whose light should have lit them on : Sails flash through the gloom to shoreward, eclipsed as the sun that shone : And the west wind wakes with dawn, and the hope that was here is gone. Around they wheel and around, two knots to the Spaniard's one. The wind-swift warriors of England, who shoot as with shafts of the sun. With fourfold shots for the Spaniard's, that spare not till day be done. And the wind with the sundown sharpens, and hurtles the ships to the lee. And Spaniard on Spaniard smites, and shatters, and yields ; and we, 2l6 THE ARMADA Ere battle begin, stand lords of the battle, acclaimed of the sea. And the day sweeps round to the nightvvard ; and heavy and hard the waves Roll in on the herd of the hurtling galleons ; and masters and slaves Reel blind in the grasp of the dark strong wind that shall dig their graves. For the sepulchres hollowed and shaped of the wind in the swerve of the seas, The graves that gape for their pasture, and laugh, thrilled through by the breeze. The sweet soft merciless waters, await and are fain of these. As the hiss of a Python heaving in menace of doom to be They hear through the clear night round them, whose hours are as clouds that flee, The whisper of tempest sleeping, the heave and the hiss of the sea. But faith is theirs, and with faith arc they girded and helmed and shod : Invincible are they, almighty, elect for a sword and a rod ; Invincible even as their God is omnipotent, infinite, God. 217 THE ARMADA In him is their strength, who have sworn tliat his glory shall wax not dim : In his name are their war-ships hallowed as mightiest of all that swim : The men that shall cope with these, and conquer, shall cast out him. In him is the trust of their hearts ; the desire of their eyes is he ; The light of their ways, made lightning for men that would fain be free : Earth's hosts are with them, and with them is heaven: but with us is the sea. 218 THE ARMADA And a day and a night pass over ; And the heart of their chief swells hic-h : For England, the warrior, the rover, Whose banners on all winds fly. Soul-stricken, he saith, by the shadow of death, holds off him, and draws not nigh. And the wind and the dawn together Make in from the gleaming east : And fain of the wild glad weather As famine is fain offcast, And fain of the fight, forth sweeps in its might the host of the Lord's high priest. And lightly before the breeze The ships of his foes take wing : Are they scattered, the lords of the seas? Are they broken, the foes of the king? And ever now higher as a mounting fire the hopes of the Spaniard spring. And a windless night comes down : And a breezeless morning, bright 219 THE ARMADA Willi promise of praise to crown The close of the crowning fight, Leaps up as the foe's heart leaps, and glows with lus- trous rapture of light. And stinted of gear for battle The ships of the sea's folk lie, Unwarlike, herded as cattle, Six miles from the foeman's eye That fastens as flame on the sight of them tame and offenceless, and ranged as to die. Surely the souls in them quail, They are stricken and withered at heart, When in on them, sail by sail. Fierce marvels of monstrous art, Tower darkening on tower till the sea-winds cower crowds down as to hurl them apart. And the windless weather is kindly, And comforts the host in these ; And their hearts are uplift in them blindly. And blindly they boast at ease That the next day's fight shall exalt them, and smite with destruction the lords of the seas. II And lightly the proud hearts prattle. And lightly the dawn draws nigh, 2 20 THE ARMADA The dawn of the doom of the battle When these shall falter and fly ; No day more great in the roll of fate filled ever with fire the sky. To fightward they go as to feastward, And the tempest of ships that drive Sets eastward ever and eastward, Till closer they strain and strive ; And the shots that rain on the hulls of Spain are as thunders afire and alive. And about them the blithe sea smiles And flashes to windward and lee Round capes and headlands and isles That heed not if war there be ; Round Sark, round Wight, green jewels of light in the ring of the golden sea. But the men that within them abide Are stout of spirit and stark As rocks that repel the tide. As day that repels the dark ; And the light bequeathed from their swords unsheathed shines lineal on Wight and on Sark. And eastward the storm sets ever, The storm of the sails that strain And follow and close and sever And lose and return and gain ; 221 THE ARMADA And English thunder divides in sunder the liolds of the ships of Spain. Southward to Calais, appalled And astonished, the vast fleet veers; And the skies are shrouded and palled, But the moonless midnight hears And sees how swift on them drive and drift strange flames that the darkness fears. They fly through the night from shoreward, Heart-stricken till morning break. And ever to scourge them forward Drives down on them England's Drake, And hurls them in as they hurtle and spin and stagger, with storm to wake. 222 THE ARMADA VI And now is their time come on them. For eastward they drift and reel, With the shallows of Flanders ahead, with destruction and havoc at heel, With God for their comfort only, the God whom they serve ; and here Their Lord, of his great loving-kindness, may revel and make good cheer ; Though ever his lips wax thirstier with drinking, and hotter the lusts in him swell ; For he feeds the thirst that consumes him with blood, and his winepress fumes with the reek of hell. II Fierce noon beats hard on the battle ; the galleons that loom to the lee Bow down, heel over, uplifting their shelterless hulls from the sea : From scuppers aspirt with blood, from guns dis- mounted and dumb. The signs of the doom they looked for, the loud mute witnesses come. 223 THE ARMADA Tlicy press with sunset to seaward for comfort : and shall not they find it there? O servants of God most high, shall his winds not pass you by, and his waves not spare? Ill The wings of the south-west wind are widened ; the breath of his fervent lips, More keen than a sword's edge, fiercer than fire, falls full on the plunging ships. The pilot is he of their northward flight, their stay and their steersman he ; A helmsman clothed with the tempest, and girdled with strength to constrain the sea. And the host of them trembles and quails, caught fast in his hand as a bird in the toils ; For the wrath and the joy that fulfil him are mightier than man's, w^hom he slays and spoils. And vainly, with heart divided in sunder, and labour of wavering will. The lord of their host takes counsel with hope if haply their star shine still, If haply some light be left them of chance to renew and redeem the fray ; Rut the will of the black south-wester is lord of the councils of war to-day. One only spirit it quells not, a splendour undarkened of chance or time ; 224 THE ARMADA Be the praise of his foes with Oquendo for ever, a name as a star sublime. But here what aid in a hero's heart, what help in his hand may be? For ever the dark wind whitens and blackens the hollows and heights of the sea. And galley by galley, divided and desolate, founders ; and none takes heed, Nor foe nor friend, if they perish; forlorn, cast off in their uttermost need, They sink in the whelm of the waters, as pebbles by children from shoreward hurled, In the North Sea's waters that end not, nor know they a bourn but the bourn of the world. Past many a secure unavailable harbour, and many a loud stream's mouth. Past Humber and Tees and Tyne and Tweed, they fly, scourged on from the south, And torn by the scourge of the storm-wind that smites as a harper smites on a lyre, And consumed of the storm as the sacrifice loved of their God is consumed with fire. And devoured of the darkness as men that are slain in the fires of his love are devoured, And deflowered of their lives by the storms, as by priests is the spirit of life deflowered. For the wind, of its godlike mercy, relents not, and hounds them ahead to the north, 225 THE ARMADA With English hunters at heel, till now is the herd of them past the Forth, All huddled and hurtled seaward ; and now need none wage war upon these, Nor huntsman follow the quarry whose fall is the pastime sought of the seas. Day upon day upon day confounds them, with measure- less mists that swell, With drift of rains everlasting and dense as the fumes of ascending hell. The visions of priest and of prophet beholding his enemies bruised of his rod Beheld but the likeness of this that is fallen on the faithful, the friends of God. Northward, and northward, and northward they stagger and shudder and swerve and flit. Dismantled of masts and of yards, with sails by the fangs of the storm-wind split. But north of the headland whose name is Wrath, by the wrath or the ruth of the sea, They are swept or sustained to the westward, and drive through the rollers aloof to the lee. Some strive yet northward for Iceland, and perish : but some through the storm-hewn straits That sunder the Shetlands and Orkneys are borne of the breath which is God's or fate's : And some, by the dawn of September, at last give thanks as for stars that smile, 226 THE ARMADA For the winds hav^e swept them to shelter and sight of the cliffs of a Catholic isle. Though many the fierce rocks feed on, and many the merciless heretic slays, Yet some that have laboured to land with their treasure are trustful, and give God praise. And the kernes of murderous Ireland, athirst with a greed everlasting of blood, Unslakable ever with slaughter and spoil, rage down as a ravening flood. To slay and to flay of their shining apparel their brethren whom shipwreck spares ; Such faith and such mercy, such love and such manhood, such hands and such hearts are theirs. Short shrift to her foes gives England, but shorter doth Ireland to friends ; and worse Fare they that came with a blessing on treason than they that come with a curse. Hacked, harried, and mangled of axes and skenes, three thousand naked and dead Bear witness of Catholic Ireland, what sons of what sires at her breasts are bred. Winds are pitiful, waves are merciful, tempest and storm are kind : The waters that smite may spare, and the thunder is deaf, and the lightning is blind : Of these perchanccat his need may a man, thougli they know it not, yet find grace ; 227 THE ARMADA But grace, if another be liardened against liim, he gets not at this man's face. For his ear that hears and his eye that sees the wreck and the wail of men, And his heart that relents not within him, but hungers, are like as the w'olf's in his den. Worth}^ are these to worship their master, the murderous Lord of lies, Who hath given to the pontiff his servant the keys of the pit and the keys of the skies. Wild famine and red-shod rapine are cruel, and bitter with l)lood are their feasts ; But fiercer than famine and redder than rapine the hands and the hearts of priests. God, God bade these to the battle; and here, on a land by his servants trod, They perish, a lordly blood-offering, subdued by the hands of the servants of God. These also were fed of his priests with faith, with the milk of his word and the wine ; These too are fulfilled with the spirit of darkness that guided their quest divine. And here, cast up from the ravening sea on the mild land's merciful breast, This comfort they find of their fellow^s in w'orship ; this guerdon is theirs of their quest. Death was captain, and doom was pilot, and darkness the chart of their way ; 228 THE ARMADA Night and hell had in charge and in keeping the host of the foes of day. Invincible, vanquished, impregnable, shattered, a sign to her foes of fear, A sign to the world and the stars of laughter, the fleet of the Lord lies here. Nay, for none may declare the place of the ruin wherein she lies ; Nay, for none hath beholden the grave whence never a ghost shall rise. The fleet of the foemen of England hath found not one but a thousand graves ; And he that shall number and name them shall number by namp and by tale the waves. 229 THE ARMADA VII Sixtus, Pope of the Church whose hope takes flight for heaven to dethrone the sun, Philip, king that wouldst turn our spring to winter, blasted, appalled, undone, Prince and priest, let a mourner's feast give thanks to God for your conquest won. England's heel is upon you: kneel, O priest, O prince, in the dust, and cry, ♦Lord, why thus? art thou wroth with us whose faith was great in thee, God most high? Whence is this, that the serpent's hiss derides us? Lord, can thy pledged word lie? ' God of hell, are its flames that swell quenched now for ever, extinct and dead? Who shall fear thee? or who shall hear the word thy servants who feared thee said? Lord, art thou as the dead gods now, whose arm is sh( »ric' ncd, whose rede is read? ♦Yet we thought it was not for nought thy word was given us, to guard and guide : 230 THE ARMADA Yet we deemed that they had not dreamed who put their trust in thee. Hast thou lied? God our Lord, was the sacred sword we drew not drawn on thy Church's side? ' England hates thee as hell's own gates ; and England triumphs, and Rome bows down : England mocks at thee ; England's rocks cast off thy servants to drive and drown : England loathes thee ; and fame betroths and plights with England her faith for crown. ' Spain clings fast to thee ; Spain, aghast with anguish, cries to thee ; where art thou? Spain puts trust in thee ; lo, the dust that soils and darkens her prostrate brow ! Spain is true to thy service; who shall raise up Spain for thy service now? 'Who shall praise thee, if none may raise thy servants up, nor affright thy foes? Winter wanes, and the woods and plains forget the like- ness of storms and snows : So shall fear of thee fade even here : and what shall follow thee no man knows.' Lords of night, who would breathe your blight on April's morninpf and August's noon, God vour Lord, the condemned, the abhorred, sinks hellward, smitten with deathlike swoon : 231 THE ARMADA Death's own dart in his hateful heart now thrills, and night shall receive him soon. God the Devil, thy reign of revel is here for ever eclipsed and fled : God the Liar, everlasting fire lays hold at last on thee, hand and head : God the Accurst, the consuming thirst that burns thee never shall here be fed. II England, queen of the waves whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round, Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found? Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims thee crowned. Times may change, and the skies grow^ strange with signs of treason and fraud and fear : Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and near : Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year to year. Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame and smite, We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of night, 232 THE ARMADA We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in light. Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not but eyeless foes : Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness grows : Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory. Beholds and glows. Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of truth : Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless youth : Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the serpent's tooth. Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in vain : Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and plain : Thou art thou : and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength of Spain. Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England's place : Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with grace : Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of face. • 233 THE ARMADA How shall thou be abased? or how shall fear take hold of thy heart? of thine, England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes divine? Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her darkness shine. England, none that is born thy son, and lives, by grace of thy glory, free, Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he worships thee ; None may sing thee : the sea-wind's wing beats down our songs as it hails the sea. 234 TO A SEAMEW WHEN I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine Such life my heart remembers In all as wild Septembers As this when life seems other, Though sweet, than once was mine ; When I had wings, my brother, Such wings were mine as thine. Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight. Or fills thy note's elation With lordlier exultation Than man's, whose faint heart sickens With hopes and fears that blight Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight. Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice ; Though storm clothe seas with sorrow, Thy call salutes the morrow ; While shades of pain seem hanging 235 TO A SEAMEW Round earth's most rapturous voice, Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice. We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea, What place man may, we claim it; But thine — whose thought may name it? Free birds live higher than freemen. And gladlier ye than we — We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea. For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight Than earth's in sunniest weather : When heaven and sea together Join strengths against the lonely Lost bark borne down by night, For you the storm sounds only More notes of more delight. With wider wing, and louder Long clarion-call of joy. Thy tribe salutes the terror Of darkness, wild as error, But sure as truth, and prouder Than waves with man for toy ; With wider wing, and louder Long clarion-call of joy. 236 TO A SEAMEW The wave's wing spreads and flutters, The wave's heart swells and breaks ; One moment's passion thrills it, One pulse of power fulfils it And ends the pride it utters When, loud with life that quakes, The wave's wing spreads and flutters, The wave's heart swells and breaks. But thine and thou, my brother. Keep heart and wing more high Than aught may scare or sunder ; The waves whose throats are thunder Fall hurtling each on other, And triumph as they die ; But thine and thou, my brother, Keep heart and wing more high. More high than wrath or anguish. More strong than pride or fear, The sense or soul half hidden In thee, for us forbidden. Bids thee nor change nor languish. But live thy life as here. More high than wrath or anguish, More strong than pride or fear. We are fallen, even we, whose passion On earth is nearest thine ; Who sing, and cease from flying; 237 TO A SEAMEW Who live, and dream of dying : Grey time, in time's grey fashion, Bids wingless creatures pine : We are fallen, even we, whose passion On earth is nearest thine. The lark knows no such rapture. Such joy no nightingale. As sways the songless measure Wherein thy wings take pleasure : Thy love may no man capture, Th}^ pride may no man quail ; The lark knows no such rapture. Such joy no nightingale. And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing And watch through heaven's waste hollow The flight no sight may follow To the utter bourne beholden Of none that lack thy wing : And we, whom dreams embolden, We can but creep and sing. Our dreams have wings that falter ; Our hearts bear hopes that die ; For thee no dream could better A life no fears may fetter, A pride no care can alter, 238 TO A SEAMEW That wots not whence or why Our dreams have wings that falter, Our hearts bear hopes that die. With joy more fierce and sweeter Than joys we deem divine Their lives, by time untarnished, Are girt about and garnished, Who match the wave's full metre And drink the wind's wild wine With joy more fierce and sweeter Than joys we deem divine. Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me. And take my song's wild honey, And give me back thy sunny Wide eyes that weary never. And wings that search the sea ; Ah, well were I for ever, Wouldst thou change lives with me. Beachy Head, September, 1886. 239 PAN AND THALASSIUS A LYRICAL IDYL THALASSIUS 1 AN! PAN. O sea-stray, seed of Apollo, What word wouldst thou have with me? My ways thou wast fain to follow Or ever the years hailed thee Man. Now If August brood on the valleys, If satyrs laugh on the lawns, What part in the wildwood alleys Hast thou with the fleet-foot fauns — Thou? See! Thy feet are a man's — not cloven Like these, not light as a boy's : 240 PAN AND THALASSIUS The tresses and tendrils inwoven That lure us, the lure of them cloys Thee. Us The joy of the wild woods never Leaves free of the thirst it slakes : The wild love throbs in us ever That burns in the dense hot brakes Thus. Life, Eternal, passionate, awless. Insatiable, mutable, dear, Makes all men's law for us lawless : We strive not : how should we fear Strife? We, The birds and the bright winds know not Such joys as are ours in the mild Warm woodland ; joys such as grow not In waste green fields of the wild Sea. No; Long since, in the world's wind veering. Thy heart was estranged from me : 241 PAN AND THALASSIUS Sweel Echo shall yield thee nol hearing What have we to do with thee? Go. THALASSIUS Ay! Such wrath on thy nostril quivers As once in Sicilian heat Bade herdsmen quail, and the rivers Shrank, leaving a path for thy feet Dry? Nay, Low down in the hot soft hollow Too snakelike hisses thy spleen : ' O sea-stray, seed of Apollo ! ' What ill hast thou heard or seen? Say. Man Knows well, if he hears beside him The snarl of thy wrath at noon. What evil may soon betide him. Or late, if thou smite not soon, Pan. Me The sound of thy flute, that flatters The woods as they smile and sigh, 2.12 PAN AND THALASSIUS Charmed fiist as it charms thy satyrs, Can charm no faster than I Thee. Fast Thy music may charm the splendid Wide woodland silence to sleep With sounds and dreams of thee blended And whispers of waters that creep Past. Here The spell of thee breathes and passes And bids the heart in me pause, Hushed soft as the leaves and the grasses Are hushed if the storm's foot draws Near. Yet The panic that strikes down strangers Transgressing thy ways unaware Affrights not me nor endangers Through dread of thy secret snare Set. PAN Whence May man find heart to deride me? Who made his face as a star 43 PAN AND THALASSIUS To shine as a God's beside me? Nay, get thee away from us, far Hence. THALASSIUS Tiien Shall no man's heart, as he raises A hymn to thy secret head, Wax great with the godhead he praises : Thou, God, shalt be Hke unto dead Men. PAN Grace I take not of men's thanksgiving, I crave not of lips that live ; They die, and behold, I am living. While they and their dead Gods give Place. THALASSIUS Yea: Too lightly the words were spoken That mourned or mocked at thee dead But whose was the word, the token, The song that answered and said Nay? 244 PAN AND THALASSIUS PAN Whose But mine, in the midnight hidden, Clothed round with the strength of night And mysteries of things forbidden For all but the one most bright Muse? THALASSIUS Hers Or thine, O Pan, was the token That gave back empire to thee When power in thy hands lay broken As reeds that quake if a bee Stirs? PAN Whom Have I in my wide woods need of? Urania's limitless eyes Behold not mine end, though they read of A word that shall speak to the skies Doom. THALASSIUS She Gave back to thee kingdom and glory, And fji'ace that was thine of ^•ore, 245 PAN AND TIIALASSIUS And life to thy leaves, late hoary As weeds cast up from the hoar Sea. Song Can bid faith shine as the morning Though light in the world be none : Death shrinks if her tongue sound warning, Night quails, and beholds the sun Strong. PAN Night Bare rule over men for ages Whose worship wist not of me And gat but sorrows for wages, And hardly for tears could see Light. Call No more on the starry presence Whose light through the long dark swam Hold fast to the green world's pleasance : For T that am lord of it am All. TIIALASSIUS God, God Pan, from the glad wood's portal ^rhc l)reaths of thy song l)low sweet: 246 PAN AND THALASSIUS But woods may be walked in of mortal Man's thought, where never thy feet Trod. Thine All secrets of growth and of birth are, All glories of flower and of tree. Wheresoever the wonders of earth are ; The words of the spell of the sea Mine. 247 A BALLAD OF BATH LIKE a queen enchanted who may not laugh or weep, Glad at heart and guarded from change and care like ours, Girt about with beauty by days and nights that creep Soft as breathless ripples that softl}' shoreward sweep, Lies the lovely city whose grace no grief deflowers. Age and grey forgetfulness, time that shifts and veers. Touch not thee, our fairest, whose charm no rival nears. Hailed as England's Florence of one whose praise gives grace, Landor, once thy lover, a name that love reveres : Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face. Dawn whereof we know not, and noon w'hose fruit we reap, Garnered up in record of years that fell like flowers. Sunset liker sunrise along the shining steep Whence thy fair face lightens, and where thy soft springs leap, Crown at once and gird thee with grace ol guardian powers. Loved of nu-n beloved of us, souls that fame inspheres, 248 A BALLAD OF BATH All thine air hath music for him who dreams and hears ; Voices mixed of multitudes, feet of friends that pace, Witness why for ever, if heaven's face clouds or clears, Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face. Peace hath here found harbourage mild as very sleep : Not the hills and waters, the fields and wild wood bowers. Smile or speak more tenderly, clothed with peace more deep. Here than memory whispers of days our memories keep Fast with love and laughter and dreams of withered hours. Bright were these as blossom of old, and thought endears Still the fair soft phantoms that pass with smiles or tears. Sweet as roseleaves hoarded and dried wherein we trace Still the soul and spirit of sense that lives and cheers : Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face. City lulled asleep by the chime of passing years. Sweeter smiles thy rest than the radiance round thy peers ; Only love and lovely remembrance here have place. Time on thee lies lighter than music on men's ears ; Dawn and noon and sunset are one before thy face. 249 B IN A GARDEN ABY, see the flowers ! — Baby sees Fairer things than these, Fairer though they be than dreams of ours. Baby, hear the birds ! — Baby knows Better songs than those, Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words. Baby, see the moon ! — Baby's eyes Laugh to watch it rise, Answering light with love and night with noon. Baby, hear the sea ! — Baby's face Takes a graver grace, Touched with wonder what the sound may be. Baby, see the star I — Baby's hand Opens, warm and bland, Calm in claim of all things fair that are. 250 IN A GARDEN Baby, hear the bells ! — Baby's head Bows, as ripe for bed. Now the flowers curl round and close their cells. Baby, flower of light. Sleep, and see Brighter dreams than we. Till good day shall smile away good night. 251 A RHYME Bx\BE, if rhyme be none For that sweet small word Babe, the sweetest one Ever heard, Right it is and meet Rhyme should keep not true Time with such a sweet Thing as you. Meet it is that rh3^me Should not gain such grace : What is April's prime To your face? What to yours is May's Rosiest smile? what sound Like your laughter sways All hearts round? None can tell in metre Fit for ears on earth What sweet star grew sweeter At your birth. 252 A RHYME Wisdom doubts what may be : Hope, with smile sublime, Trusts : but neither, baby, Knows the rhyme. Wisdom lies down lonely ; Hope keeps watch from far ; None but one seer only Sees the star. Love alone, with yearning Heart for astrolabe, Takes the star's height, burning O'er the babe. 253 BABY-BIRD BABY-BIRD, baby-bird, Ne'er a song on earth May be heard, ma}^ be heard, Ricli as yours in mirth. All your flickering fingers, All your twinkling toes. Play like light that lingers Till the clear song close. Baby-bird, baby-bird. Your grave majestic eyes Like a bird's warbled words Speak, and sorrow dies. Sorrow dies for love's sake. Love grows one with mirth. Even for one white dove's sake. Born a babe on earth. Baby-bird, baby-bird. Chirping loud and long, Other birds hush their words, Hearkening toward your song. 254 BABY-BIRD Sweet as spring though it ring, Full of love's own lures, Weak and wrong sounds their song, Singing after yours. Baby-bird, baby-bird. The happy heart that hears Seems to win back within Heaven, and cast out fears. Earth and sun seem as one Sweet light and one sweet word Known of none here but one. Known of one sweet bird. 255 OLIVE WHO may praise her? Eyes where midnight shames the sun, Hair of night and sunshine spun, Woven of dawn's or twilight's loom. Radiant darkness, lustrous gloom. Godlike childhood's fiowerlike bloom. None may praise aright, nor sing Half the grace wherewith like spring Love arrays her. II Love untold Sings in silence, speaks in light Shed from each fair feature, bright Slill from heaven, whence toward us, now Nine years since, she deigned to bow Down the brightness of her brow, Deigned to pass through mortal birth : Reverence calls her, here on earth, Nine years old. 256 OLIVE III Love's deep duty, Even when love transfigured grows Worship, all too surely knows How, though love may cast out fear, Yet the debt divine and dear Due to childhood's godhead here May by love of man be paid Never ; never song be made Worth its beautv. IV Nought is all Sung or said or dreamed or thought Ever, set beside it ; nought All the love that man may give — Love whose prayer should be, ' Forgive ! ' Heaven, we see, on earth may live; Earth can thank not heaven, we know, Save with songs that ebb and flow, Rise and fall. No man living. No man dead, save haply one Now gone homeward past the sun, 257 OLIVE Ever found such grace as might Tunc; his tongue to praise aright Children, flowers of love and light, Whom our praise dispraises : we Sing, in sooth, but not as he Sang thanksgiving. VI Hope that smiled, Seeing her new-born beauty, made Out of heaven's own light and shade. Smiled not half so sweetly : love, Seeing the sun, afar above. Warm the nest that rears the dove, Sees, more bright than moon or sun, All the heaven of heavens in one Little child. VII Who may sing her? Wings of angels when they stir Make no music worthy her : Sweeter sound her shy soft words Here than songs of God's own birds Whom the fire of rapture girds Round with liirht from love's face lit : Hands of angels find no fit Gifts to bring her. 2vS O L I \^ E VIII Babes at birtli Wear as raiment round them cast, Keep as witness toward their past, Tokens left of heaven ; and each, Ere its lips learn mortal speech. Ere sweet heaven pass on pass reach, Bears in undiverted eyes Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth. IX Quenched as embers Quenched with flakes of rain or snow Till the last faint flame burns low. All those lustrous memories lie Dead with babyhood gone by : Yet in her they dare not die : Others, fair as heaven is, yet. Now they share not heaven, forget : She remembers. 259 A WORD WITH THE WIND ORD of days and nights that hear thy word of wintr}' T ORD of da L/ warnino-, Wind, whose feet are set on ways that none may tread, Change the nest wherein thy wings are fledged for iHght by morning, Change the harbour whence at dawn thy sails are spread. Not the dawn, ere yet the imprisoning night has half released her, More desires the sun's full face of cheer, than we. Well as yet we love the strength of the iron-tongued north-easter. Yearn for wind to meet us as we front the sea. All thy ways are good, O wind, and all the world should fester, Were thy fourfold godhead quenched, or stilled thy strife : Yet the waves and we desire too long the deep south- wester, Whence the waters quicken shoreward, clothed with life. 260 A WORD WITH THE WIND Yet the field not made for ploughing save of keels nor harrowing Save of storm-winds lies unbrightened by thy breath : Banded broad with ruddy samphire glow the sea-banks narrowing Westward, while the sea gleams chill and still as death. Sharp and strange from inland sounds thy bitter note of battle, Blown between grim skies and waters sullen-souled, Till the bafiied seas bear back, rocks roar and shingles rattle. Vexed and angered and anhungered and acold. Change thy note, and give the waves their will, and all the measure. Full and perfect, of the music of their might, Let it fill the bays with thunderous notes and throbs of pleasure. Shake the shores with passion, sound at once and smite. Sweet are even the mild low notes of wind and sea, but sweeter Sounds the song whose coral wrath of raging rhyme Bids the shelving shoals keep tune with storm's imperi- ous metre. Bids the rocks and reefs respond in rapturous chime. Sweet the lisp and lulling whisper and luxurious laugh- ter. Soft as love or sleep, of waves whereon the sun 261 A WORD WITH THE WIND Dreams, and dreams not of the darkling hours before nor after, Winged with cloud whose wrath shall bid love's day be done. Yet shall darkness bring the awakening sea a lordlier lover, Clothed with strength more amorous and more strenuous will, Whence her heart of hearts shall kindle and her soul recover Sense of love too keen to lie for love's sake still. Let thy strong south-western music sound, and bid the billows Brighten, proud and glad to feel thy scourge and kiss Sting and soothe and sway them, bowed as aspens bend or willows, Yet resurgent still in breathless rage of bliss. All to-dav the slow sleek ripples hardly bear up shore- ward, Charged with sighs more light than laughter, faint and fair, Like a woodland lake's weak wavelets lightly lingering forward, Soft and listless as the slumber-stricken air. Be the sunshine bared or veiled, the sky superb or shrouded, Still the waters, lax and languid, chafed and foiled. Keen and thwarted, pale and patient, clothed with lire or clouded, 262 A WORD WITH THE WIND Vex their heart in vain, or sleep like serpents coiled. Thee they look for, blind and baffled, wan with wrath and weary, Blown for ever back by winds that rock the bird : Winds that seamews breast subdue the sea, and bid the dreary Waves be weak as hearts made sick with hope deferred. Let thy clarion sound from westward, let the south bear token How the glories of thy godhead sound and shine : Bid the land rejoice to see the land-wind's broad wings broken, Bid the sea take comfort, bid the world be thine. Half the world abhors thee beating back the sea, and blackening Heaven with fierce and woful change of lluctuant form : All the world acclaims thee shifting sail again, and slackening Cloud by cloud the close-reefed cordage of the storm. Sweeter fields and brighter woods and lordlier hills than waken Here at sunrise never hailed the sun and thee : Turn thee then, and give them comfort, shed like rain and shaken Far as foam that laughs and leaps along the sea. J63 NEAP-TIDE FAR off is the sea, and the land is afar : The low banks reach at the sky, Seen hence, and are heavenward high ; Though light for the leap of a boy they are, And the far sea late was nigh. The fair wild fields and the circling downs. The bright sweet marshes and meads All glorious with flowerlike weeds. The great grey churches, the sea-washed towns, Recede as a dream recedes. The world draws back, and the world's light wanes. As a dream dies down and is dead ; And the clouds and the gleams overhead Change, and change; and the sea remains, A shadow of dreamlike dread. Wild and woful, and pale, and grey, A shadow of sleepless fear, A corpse with the night for bier, The fairest thing that beholds the day Lies haggard and liopeless here. 264 NEAP-TIDE Anal the wind's wings, broken and spent, subside ; And the dumb waste world is hoar. And strange as the sea the shore ; And shadows of shapeless dreams abide Where life may abide no more. A sail to seaward, a sound from shoreward, And the spell were broken that seems To reign in a world of dreams Where vainly the dreamer's feet make forward And vainly the low sky gleams. The sea-forsaken forlorn deep-wrinkled Salt slanting stretches of sand That slope to the seaward hand, Were they fain of the ripples that flashed and twinkled And laughed as they struck the .strand? As bells on the reins of the fairies ring The ripples that kissed them rang, The light from the sundawn sprang, And the sweetest of songs that the world may sing Was theirs when the full sea sang. Now no light is in heaven ; and now Not a note of the sea-wind's tune Rings hither : the bleak sky's boon Grants hardly sight of a grey sun's brow — A sun more sad than the moon. 265 NEAP-TIDE More sad than a moon that clouds beleaguer And storm is a scourge to smite, The sick sun's shadowlike light Grows faint as the clouds and the waves wax eager, And withers away from sight. The day's heart cowers, and the night's heart quickens : Full fain would the day be dead And the stark night reign in his stead : The sea falls dumb as the sea-fog thickens And the sunset dies for dread. Outside of the range of time, whose breath Is keen as the manslayer's knife And his peace but a truce for strife, Who knows if haply the shadow of death May be not the light of life? For the storm and the rain and the darkness borrow But an hour from the suns to be, But a strange swift passage, that we May rejoice, who have mourned not to-day, to-morrow. In the sun and the wind and the sea. 266 BY THE WAYSIDE SUMMER'S face was rosiest, skies and woods were mellow, Earth had heaven to friend, and heaven had earth to fellow. When we met where wooded hills and meadows meet. Autumn's face is pale, and all her late leaves yellow. Now that here again we greet. Wan with years whereof this eightieth nears December, Fair and bright with love, the kind old face I know Shines above the sweet small twain whose eyes remember Heaven, and fill with April's light this pale November, Though the dark year's glass run low. Like a rose whose joy of life her silence utters When the birds are loud, and low the lulled wind mutters, Grave and silent shines the boy nigh three years old. Wise and sweet his smile, that falters not nor flutters. Glows, and turns the gloom to gold. Like the new-born sun's that strikes the dark and slab's it, So that even for love of light it smiles and dies. Laughs the boy's blithe face whose fair fourth year arrays it 267 BY THE WAYSIDE All with light of life ;uul mirth that stirs and sways it And fulfils the deep wide eyes. Wide and warm with glowing laughter's exultation, Full of welcome, full of sunbright jubilation, Flash my taller friend's quick eyebeams, charged with glee ; But with softer still and sweeter salutation Shine my smaller friend's on me. Little arms flung round my bending neck, that yoke it Fast in tender bondage, draw my face down too Toward the fiower-soft face whose dumb deep smiles invoke it, Dumb, but love can read the radiant eyes that woke it, Blue as June's mid heaven is blue. How may men find refuge, how should hearts be shielded, From the weapons thus by little children wielded. When they lift such eyes as light this lustrous face — Eyes that woke love sleeping unawares, and yielded Love for love, a gift of grace, Grace beyond man's merit, love that laughs, forgiving Even the sin of being no more a child, nor worth Trust and love that lavish gifts above man's giving. Touch or glance of eyes and lips the sweetest living, Fair as heaven and kind as earth? 268 NIGHT FROM THE ITALIAN OP' GIOVANNI STROZZI NIGHT, whom in shape so sweet thou here may'st see Sleeping, was by an Angel sculptured thus In marble, and since she sleeps hath life like us : Thou doubt'st? Awake her: she will speak to thee. II FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI Sleep likes me well, and better yet to know I am but stone. While shame and grief must be, Good hap is mine, to feel not, nor to see : Take heed, then, lest thou wake me : ah, speak low. 269 IN TIME OF MOURNING ' pETURN,' we dare not as we fain 1 \ Would cry from hearts that yearn Love dares not bid our dead again Return. O hearts that strain and burn As fires fast fettered burn and strain ! Bow down, lie still, and learn. The heart that healed all hearts of pain No funeral rites inurn : Its echoes, while the stars remain, Return. Afiiy, 1885. 270 THE INTERPRETERS DAYS dawn on us that make amends for many Sometimes, When heaven and earth seem sweeter even than any Man's rhymes. Light had not all been quenched in France, or quelled In Greece, Had Homer sung not, or had Hugo held His peace. Had Sappho's self not left her word thus long For token, The sea round Lesbos 3'et in waves of song Had spoken. II And yet these days of subtler air and finer Delight, When lovelier looks the darkness, and diviner The light — 271 THE INTERPRETERS The gilt they give of all these golden hours, Whose urn Pours forth reverberate rays or shadowing showers In turn — Clouds, beams, and winds that make the live day's track Seem living — What were they did no spirit give them back Thanksgiving? Ill Dead air, dead fire, dead shapes and shadows, telling Time nought ; Man gives them sense and soul by song, and dwelling In thought. In iuinian thought their being endures, their power Abides : Else were their life a thing that each light hour Derides. The years live, work, sigh, smile, and die, with all They cherish ; The soul endures, though dreams that fed it fall And perish. 272 THE INTERPRETERS IV In human thought have all things habitation ; Our days Laugh, lower, and lighten past, and find no station That stays. But thought and faith are mightier things than time Can wrong, Made splendid once with speech, or made sublime By song. Remembrance, though the tide of change that rolls Wax hoary, Gives earth and heaven, for song's sake and the soul's. Their glory. July 1 6th, 1885. 017-) THE RECALL RETURN, they cry, ere yet your day Set, and the sky grow stern : Return, strayed souls, while yet ye may Return. liut heavens beyond us yearn ; Yea, heights of heaven above the sway Of stars that eyes discern. The soul whose wings from shoreward stray Makes toward her viewless bourne Though trustless faith and unfaith say, Return. 274 BY TWILIGHT IF we dream that desire of the distance above us Should be fettered by fear of the shadows that seem, If we wake, to be nought, but to hate or to love us If we dream. Night sinks on the soul, and the stars as they gleam Speak menace or mourning, with tongues to reprove us That we deemed of them better than terror may deem. But if hope may not lure us, if fear may not move us. Thought lightens the darkness wherein the supreme Pure presence of death shall assure us, and prove us If we dream. 275 A BABY'S EPITAPH APRIL made me : winter laid me here away asleep. Bright as Maytime was my daytime ; night is soft and deep : Though the morrow bring forth sorrow, well are ye that weep. Ye that held me dear beheld me not a twelvemonth long : All the while ye saw me smile, ye knew not whence the song Came that made me smile, and laid me here, and wrought you wrong. Angels, calling from your brawling world one undefiled, Homeward bade ma, and forbade me here to rest beguiled : Here I sleep not: pass, and weep not here upon your child. 276 ON THE DEATH OF SIR HENRY TAYLOR FOURSCORE and five times has the gradual year Risen and fulfilled its days of youth and eld Since first the child's eyes opening first beheld Light, who now leaves behind to help us here Light shed from song as starlight from a sphere Serene as summer; song whose charm compelled The sovereign soul made flesh in Artevelde To stand august before us and austere, Half sad with mortal knowledge, all sublime With trust that takes no taint from change or time. Trust in man's might of manhood. Strong and sage, Clothed round with reverence of remembering hearts. He, twin-born with our nigh departing age, Into the light of peace and fame departs. 277 IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD FAREWELL : how should not such as thou fare well, Though we fare ill that love thee, and that live. And know, whate'er the days wherein we dwell May give us, thee again they will not give? Peace, rest, and sleep are all we know of death, And all we dream of comfort: yet for thee, Whose breath of life was bright and strenuous breath. We think the change is other than we see. The seal of sleep set on thine eyes to-day Surely can seal not up the keen swift light That lit them once for ever. Night can slay None save the children of the womb of night. The fire that burns up dawn to bring forth noon Was father of thy spirit : how shouldst thou Die as they die for whom the sun and moon Are silent? Thee the darkness holds not now : Them, while they looked upon the light, and deemed That life was theirs for living in the sun, The darkness held in bondage : and they dreamed, W1h> kiuw not that such life as theirs was none. 278 IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD To thee the sun spake, and the morning sang Notes deep and clear as life or heaven : the sea That sounds for them but wild waste music rang Notes that were lost not when they rang for thee. The mountains clothed with light and night and change, The lakes alive with wind and cloud and sun Made answer, by constraint sublime and strange, To the ardent hand that bade thy will be done. We may not bid the mountains mourn, the sea That lived and lightened from thine hand again Moan, as of old would men that mourned as we A man beloved, a man elect of men, A man that loved them. Vain, divine and vain. The dream that touched with thoughts or tears of ours The spirit of sense that lives in sun and rain. Sings out in birds, and breathes and fades in flowers. Not for our joy they live, and for our grief They die not. Though thine eye be closed, thine hand Powerless as mine to paint them, not a leaf In English woods or glades of Switzerland Falls earlier now, fades faster. All our love Moves not our mother's changeless heart, who gives A little light to eyes and stars above, A little life to each man's heart that lives. 279 IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCIIBOLD A little life to heaven and earth and sea. To stars and souls revealed of night and day, And change, the one thing changeless : yet shall she Cease too, perchance, and perish. Who shall say? Our mother Nature, dark and sweet as sleep. And strange as life and strong as death, holds fast, Even as she holds our hearts alive, the deep Dumb secret of her first-born births and last. But this, we know, shall cease not till the strife Of nights and days and fears and hopes find end ; This, through the brief eternities of life. Endures, and calls from death a living friend ; The love made strong with knowledge, whence confirmed The whole soul takes assurance, and the past (So by time's measure, not by memory's, termed) Lives present life, and mingles first with last. I, now long since thy guest of many days. Who found thy hearth a brother's, and with thee Tracked in and out the lines of rolling bays And banks and gulfs and reaches of the sea — Deep dens wherein the wrestling water sobs And pants with restless pain of refluent breath Till all the sunless hollow sounds and throbs With ebb and How of eddies dark as death — 280 IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD I know not what more glorious world, wliat waves More bright with life, — if brighter aught may live Than those that filled and fled their tidal caves — May now give back the love thou hast to give. Tintagel, and the long Trebarwith sand, Lone Camelford, and Boscastle divine With dower of southern blossom, bright and bland Above the roar of granite-baffled brine, Shall hear no more by joyous night or day From downs or causeways good to rove and ride Or feet of ours or horse-hoofs urge their way That sped us here and there by tower and tide. The headlands and the hollows and the waves, For all our love, forget us: where I am Thou art not : deeper sleeps the shadow on graves Than in the sunless gulf that once we swam. Thou hast swum too soon the sea of death : for us Too soon, but if truth bless love's blind belief Faith, born of hope and memory, says not thus : And joy for thee for me should mean not grief. And joy for thee, if ever soul of man Found joy in change and life of ampler birth Than here pens in the spirit for a span. Must be the life that doul)t calls death on earth. 281 IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD For if, beyond the shadow and the sleep, A place there be for souls without a stain, Where peace is perfect, and delight more deep Than seas or skies that change and shine again, There none of all unsullied souls that live May hold a surer station : none may lend More light to hope's or memory's lamp, nor give More joy than thine to those that called thee friend. Yea, joy from sorrow's barren womb is born When faith begets on grief the godlike child : As midnight yearns with starry sense of morn In Arctic summers, though the sea wax wild, So love, whose name is memory, thrills at heart, Remembering and rejoicing in thee, now Alive where love may dream not what thou art But knows that higher than hope or love art thou. ♦ Whatever heaven, if heaven at all may be, Await the sacred souls of good men dead. There, now we mourn who loved him here, is he.' So, sweet and stern of speech, the Roman said, Erect in grief, in trust erect, and gave His deathless dead a deathless life even here Where day bears down on day as wave on wave And not man's smile fades faster than his tear. IN MEMORY OF JOHN WILLIAM INCHBOLD Albeit this gift be given not me to give, Nor power be mine to break time's silent spell, Not less shall love that dies not while I live Bid thee, beloved in life and death, farewell. 283 NEW YEAR'S DAY NEW year, be good to England. Bid her name Shine sunlike as of old on all the sea : Make strong her soul : set all her spirit free : Bind fast her homeborn foes with links of shame More strong than iron and more keen than flame : Seal up their lips for shame's sake : so shall she Who was the light that lightened freedom be, For all false tongues, in all men's eyes the same. O last-born child of Time, earth's eldest lord, God undiscrowned of godhead, who for man Begets all good and evil things that live. Do thou, his new-begotten son, implored Of hearts that hope and fear not, make thy span Bright with such light as history bids thee give. January i, 1889. 284 TO SIR RICHARD F. BURTON (on his translation of the ARABIAN NIGHTS) WESTWARD the sun sinks, grave and glad ; but tar Eastward, with laughter and tempestuous tears, Cloud, rain, and splendour as of orient spears. Keen as the sea's thrill toward a kindling star, The sundawn breaks the barren twilight's bar And fires the mist and slays it. Years on years Vanish, but he that hearkens eastward hears Bright music from the world where shadows are. Where shadows are not shadows. Hand in hand A man's word bids them rise and smile and stand And triumph. All that glorious orient glows Defiant of the dusk. Our twilight land Trembles ; but all the heaven is all one rose. Whence laughing love dissolves her frosts and snows. ^85 NELL GWYN SWEET heart, that no taint of the throne or the stage Could touch with unclean transformation, or alter To the likeness of courtiers whose consciences falter At the smile or the frown, at the mirth or the rage, Of a master whom chance could inflame or assuage. Our Lady of Laughter, invoked in no psalter, Adored of no faithful that cringe and that palter. Praise be with thee yet from a hag-ridden age. Our Lady of Pity thou wast : and to thee All England, whose sons are the sons of the sea, Gives thanks, and will hear not if history snarls When the name of the friend of her sailors is spoken : And thy lover she cannot but love — by the token That thy name was the last on the lips of King Charles. 286 CALIBAN ON ARIEL 'His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract ' THE tongue is loosed of that most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness. Listen : 'Lo, The real god of song, Lord Stephano, That's a brave god, if ever god were brave. And bears celestial liquor : but,' the knave (A most ridiculous monster) howls, 'we know From Ariel's lips what springs of poison flow, The chicken-heart blasphemer ! Hear him rave ! ' Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, the witch whose name Is darkness, and the sun her eyes' ofience, Though hell's hot sewerage breed no loathlier elf, Men cry not shame upon thee, seeing thy shame So perfect : they but bid thee — ' Hag-seed, hence I ' 287 THE WEARY WEDDING O DAUGHTER, why do ye laugh and weep, One with another? For woe to wake and for will to sleep. Mother, my mother. But weep ye vvinna the day ye wed, One with another. For tears are dry when the springs are dead, Mother, my mother. Too long have your tears run down like rain, One with another. For a long love lost and a sweet love slain, Mother, my mother. Too long have your tears dripped down like dews One with another. For a knight that my sire and my brethren slew, Mother, my mother. Let past things perish and dead griefs lie. One with another. O fain would I weep not, and fain would I die. Mother, my mother. 288 THE WEARY WEDDING Fair gifts we give ye, to laugh and live, One with another. But sair and strange are the gifts I give. Mother, my mother. And what will ye give for your father's love? One with another. Fruits full few and thorns enough. Mother, my mother. And what will ye give for your mother's sake ? One witli another. Tears to brew and tares to bake, Mother, my mother. And what will ye give your sister Jean? One with another. A bier to build and a babe to wean. Mother, my mother. And what will 3'e give your sister Nell ? One with another. The end of life and beginning of hell. Mother, mv mother. And what will 3'e give your sister Kate? One with another. Earth's door and hell's gate, Mother, my mother. 2 89 ■c: THE WEARY WEDDING And what will ye give your brother Will? One with another. Life's grief and world's ill, Mother, my mother. And what will 3'e give your brother Hugh? One with another. A bed of turf to turn into, Mother, my mother. And what will ye give your brother John? One with another. The dust of death to feed upon, Mother, my mother. And what will ye give your bauld bridegroom? One with another. A barren bed and an empty room. Mother, my mother. And what will ye give your bridegroom's friend? One with another. A weary foot to the wear}- end, Mother, my mother. And what will ye give your blithe bridesmaid? One with another. Grief to sew and sorrow to braid. Mother, my mother. 290 THE WEARY WEDDING And what will ye drink the day ye're wed? One with another. But ae drink of the wan well-head, Mother, my mother. And whatten a water is that to draw ? One with another. We maun draw thereof a', we maun drink thereof a'. Mother, m}^ mother. And what shall ye pu' w^here the well rins deep? One with another. Green herb of death, fine flower of sleep, Mother, my mother. Are there ony fishes that swim therein? One with another. The white fish grace, and the red fish sin, Mother, my mother. Are there ony birds that sing thereby? One with another. O when they come thither they sing till they die, Mother, my mother. Is there ony draw-bucket to that well-head? One with another. There's a wee well-bucket hangs low by a thread, Mother, my mother. 201 THE WEARY WEDDING Aiul whatlcn a thread is that to spin? Oiu' witli another. It's green tor grace, and it's black for sin, Mother, my mother. And what will ye strew on your bride-chamber floor? One with another. But one strewing and no more, Mother, my mother. And whatten a strewing shall that one be? One with another. The dust of earth and sand of the sea, Mother, my mother. And what will ye take to build your bed? One with another. Sighing and shame and the bones of the dead. Mother, my mother. And what will ye wear for your wedding gown? One with another. Grass for the green and dust for the brown, Mother, my mother. And what will ye wear for your wedding lace? One with another. A heavy heart and a hidden face, Mother, my mother. 292 THE WEARY WEDDING And what will ye wear for a wreath to your head ? One with another. Ash for the white and blood for the red, Mother, my mother. And what will ye wear for your wedding ring? One with another. A weary thought for a weary thing, Mother, my mother. And what shall the chimes and the bell-ropes play? One with another. A weary tune on a wear}^ day, Mother, my mother. And what shall be sung for your wedding song? One with another. A weary word of a weary wrong, Mother, my mother. The world's way with me runs back. One with another, Wedded in white and buried in black, Mother, my mother. The world's day and the world's night, One with another, Wedded in black and buried in white, Mother, my mother. r 293 THE WEARY WEDDING The world's bliss and the world's teen, One with another, It's red for white and it's black for green. Mother, my mother. The world's will and the world's way. One with another. It's sighing for night and crying for day, Mother, my mother. The world's good and the world's worth, One with another, It's earth to flesh and it's flesh to earth. Mother, my mother. When she came out at the kirkyard gate, (One with another) The bridegroom's mother was there in wait (Mother, my mother.) O mother, where is my great green bed, (One with another) Silk at the foot and gold at the head, Mother, my mother? Yea, it is ready, the silk and the gold, One with another. 294 THE WEARY WEDDING But line it well that I lie not cold, Mother, my mother. She laid her cheek to the velvet and vair, One with another ; She laid her arms up under her hair. (Mother, my mother.) Her gold hair fell through her arms fu' low, One with another : Lord God, bring me out of woe ! (Mother, my mother.) Her gold hair fell in the gay reeds green, One with another : Lord God, bring me out of teen I (Mother, my mother.) O mother, where is my lady gone? (One with another.) In the bride-chamber she makes sore moan (Mother, my mother.) Her hair falls over the velvet and vair, (One with another) Her great soft tears fall over her hair, (Mother, m}- mother.) 295 THE WEARY WEDDING When he came into llie bride's chamber, (One with another) Her hands were like pale yellow amber. (Mother, my mother.) Her tears made specks in the velvet and vair, (One with another) The seeds of the reeds made specks in her hair. (Mother, my mother.) He kissed her under the gold on her head ; (One with another) The lids of her eyes were like cold lead. (Mother, m}'^ mother.) He kissed her under the fall of her chin ; (One with another) There was right little blood therein. (Mother, my mother.) He kissed her under her shoulder sweet ; (One with another) Her throat was weak, with little lieat. (Mother, my mother.) He kissed her down b}' her breast-flowers red. One with another ; They were like river-flowers dead. (Mother, my mother.) 296 THE WEARY WEDDING What ails you now o" your weeping, wife? (One with another.) It ails me sair o' my very life. (Mother, my mother.) What ails you now o' your weary ways? (One with another.) It ails me sair o' my long life-days. (Mother, my mother.) Nay, ye are young, ye are over fair. (One with another.) Though I be young, what needs ye care ? (Mother, my mother.) Nay, ye are fair, ye are over sweet. (One with another.) Though I be fair, what needs ye greet? (Mother, my mother.) Nay, ye are mine while I hold my life. (One with another.) O fool, will ye marry the worm for a wife? (Mother, my mother.) Nay, ye are mine while I have my breath. (One with another.) O fool, will ye marry the dust of death? (Mother, my mother.) 297 THE WEARY WEDDING Yea, ye are mine, we arc handfast wed. One with another. Nay, I am no man's ; nay, I am dead. Mother, my mother. 298 o THE WINDS WEARY fa' the east wind, And weary fa' the west : And gin I were vmder the wan waves w^ide I wot weel wad I rest. O weary fa' the north wind, And weary fa' the south : The sea w^ent ower my good lord's head Or ever he kissed my mouth. Weary fa' the windward rocks, And weary fa' the lee : They might hae sunken sevenscore ships, And let my love's gang free. And weary fa' ye, mariners a', And weary fa' the sea : It might hae taken an hundred men, And let my ae love be. 299 A LYKE-WAKE SONG FAIR of face, full of pride, Sit ye down by a dead man's side. Ye sang songs a' the day : Sit down at night in the red worm's way. Proud ye were a' day long : Ye'll be but lean at evensong. Ye had gowd kells on your hair : Nae man kens what ye were. Ye set scorn by the silken stuff : Now the grave is clean enough. Ye set scorn by the rubis ring : Now the worm is a saft sweet thing. Fine gold and blithe fair face, Ye are come to a grimly place. Gold hair and glad grey een, Nae man kens if ye have been. 300 A REIVER'S NECK-VERSE SOME die singing, and some die swinging, And weel mot a' they be : Some die playing, and some die praying, And I wot sae winna we, my dear, And I wot sae winna we. Some die sailing, and some die wailing. And some die fair and free : Some die flyting, and some die fighting. But I for a fause love's fee, my dear. But I for a fause love's fee. Some die laughing, and some die quaffing. And some die high on tree : Some die spinning, and some die sinning, But faggot and fire for 3^e, my dear. Faggot and fire for ye. Some die weeping, and some die sleeping. And some die under sea : Some die ganging, and some die hanging, And a twine of a tow for me, my dear, A twine of a tow for me. 30T THE WITCH-MOTHER ^ /'^ WHERE will ye gang to and where will ye sleep, V_y Against the night begins? ' ' My bed is made wi ' cauld sorrows, M}' sheets are lined wi ' sins. ' And a sair grief sitting at my foot. And a sair grief at my head ; And dule to lay me my laigh pillows. And teen till I be dead. ' And the rain is sair upon my face, And sair upon my hair ; And the wind upon my wear}'^ mouth, That never may man kiss mair. *And the snow upon my heavy lips, That never shall drink nor eat ; And shame to cledding, and woe to wedding. And pain to drink and meat. ' But woe be to my bairns' Hither, And ever ill fare he : He has tane a braw bride hame to him, Cast out my bairns and me.' 302 THE WITCH-MOTHER ' And what shall they have to their marriage meat This day they twain are wed ? ' ' Meat of strong crying, salt of sad sighing, And God restore the dead.' ' And what shall they have to their wedding wine This day they twain are wed? ' ' Wine of weeping, and draughts of sleeping, And God raise up the dead.' She's tane her to the wild woodside, Between the flood and fell : She's sought a rede against her need Of the fiend that bides in hell. She's tane her to the wan burnside, She's wrought wi' sang and spell : She's plighted her soul for doom and dole To the fiend that bides in hell. She's set her young son to her breast, Her auld son to her knee : Says, ' Weel for you the night, bairnies, And weel the morn for me.' She looked fu' lang in their een, sighing. And sair and sair grat she : She has slain her young son at her breast, Her auld son at her knee. 303 THE WITCII-MOTHER She's sodden their flesh w'v saft water, She's mixed their blood with wine : She's tane her to the bravv bride-house, Where a' were boun' to dine. She poured the red wine in his cup, And his een grew fain to greet : She set the baked meats at his hand, And bade him drink and eat. Says, ' Eat your fill of your flesh, my lord, And drink your fill of your wine, For a' thing's yours and only yours That has been yours and mine.' Says, ' Drink 3'^our fill of your wine, my lord. And eat your fill of your bread : I would they were quick in my body again, Or I that bare them dead.' He struck her head frae her fair body. And dead for grief he fell : And there were twae mair sangs in heaven, And twae mair sauls in hell. 304 THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY ^ T^HE wind wears roun', the day wears doun, 1 The moon is grisly grey ; There's nae man rides by the mirk muirsides, Nor down the dark Tyne's way.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wand and whirls the whin. ' And winna ye w^atch the night wi' me. And winna ye wake the morn? Foul shame it were that your ae mither Should brook her ae son's scorn.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls llie whin. ' O mither, I may not sleep nor stay. My weird is ill to dree ; For a fause faint lord of the south seaboard Wad win my bride of me.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the wliin. 305 THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY ' The winds arc Strang, and llic niglits are lang, And the ways are sair to ride : And I maun gang to wreak my wrang, And ye maun bide and bide.' In, in, out and in, Blaws tlie wind and w hirls tlie whin. ' Gin I maun bide and bide, Willie, I wot my weird is sair : Weel may ye get ye a light love yet. But never a mither mair.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the w'hin. ' O gin the morrow^ be great wi' sorrow. The wyte be yours of a' : But though ye slay me that haud and stay me. The weird ye w^ill maun fa'.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. When cocks were crawing and day was dawing. He's boun' him forth to ride : And the ae first may he's met that day Was fause Earl Robert's bride. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and wliirls tlie whin. 306 THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY O blithe and braw were the bride-folk a', But sad and saft rade she ; And sad as doom was her faiise bridegroom, But fair and fain was he. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. ' And winna ye bide, sae saft ye ride, And winna ye speak wi' me? For mony's the word and the kindly word I have spoken aft wi' thee.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. ' My lamp was lit yestreen, Willie, My window-gate was wide : But ye camena nigh me till day came by me And made me not your bride.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. He's set his hand to her bridle-rein. He's turned her horse away : And the cry was sair, and the wratii was mair. And fast and fain rode they. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. 307 THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY But when tliev came by Cliollcrloid, I wot tlie ways were fell ; For broad and brown the spate swang down, And the lilt was mirk as hell. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wand and whirls the whin. ' And will ye ride yon fell water, Or will ye bide for fear? Nae scathe ye'll win o' your father's kin. Though they should slay me here.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. ' I had liefer ride yon fell w^ater, Though strange it be to ride, Than I wad stand on the fair green strand And thou be slain beside.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. • I had liefer swim yon wild water, Though sair it be to bide, Than I wad stand at a strange man's hand, To be a strange man's bride.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. 30S THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY 'I had liefer drink yon dark water, Wi' the stanes to make my bed, And the faem to hide me, and thou beside me. Than I wad see thee dead.' In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. He's kissed her twice, he's kissed her thrice. On cheek and lip and chin : He's wound her rein to his hand again. And lightly they leapt in. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. Their hearts were high to live or die. Their steeds were stark of limb : But the stream was starker, the spate was darker. Than man might live and swim. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. The first ae step they strode therein. It smote them foot and knee : But ere they wan to the mid water The spate was as the sea. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. 309 THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY But when they wan to the mid water, It smote them hand and head : And nae man knows but the wave that flows Where they He drowned and dead. In, in, out and in, Blaws the wind and whirls the whin. 310 A JACOBITE'S FAREWELL 1716 THERE'S nae mair lands to tyne, my dear, And nae mair lives to gie : Though a man think sair to live nae mair, There's but one day to die. For a' things come and a' days gane, What needs ye rend your hair? But kiss me till the morn's morrow, Then I'll kiss ye nae mair. O lands are lost and life's losing, And what were they to gie ? Fu' mony a man gives all he can. But nae man else gives ye. Our king wons ower the sea's water, And I in prison sair : But I'll win out the morn's morrow, And ye'll see me nae mair. 311 A JACOBITE'S EXILE 1746 THE weary day rins down and dies, The weary night wears through : And never an hour is fair wi' flower, And never a flower wi' dew. I would the day were night for me, I would the night were day : For then would I stand in my ain fair land. As now in dreams I may. O lordly flow the Loire and Seine, And loud the dark Durance : But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne Than a' the fields of France ; And the waves of Till that speak sae still Gleam goodlier where they glance. O weel were they that fell fighting On dark Drumossie's day : They keep their hame avont thr faeni. And \vi' die far away. 312 A JACOBITE'S EXILE O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep, But night and day wake we ; And ever between the sea-banks green Sounds loud the sundering sea. And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep. But sweet and fast sleep they ; And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them Is e'en their country's clay ; But the land we tread that are not dead Is strange as night by day. Strange as night in a strange man's sight, Though fair as dawn it be : For what is here that a stranger's cheer Should yet wax blithe to see? The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep, The fields are green and gold : The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring. As ours at home of old. But hills and flowers are nane of ours. And ours are oversea : And the kind strange land whereon we stand, It wotsna what were we Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame, To try what end might be. 313 A JACOBITE'S EXILE Scathe, and shame, and a waefu' name, And a weary time and strange, Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing Can die, and cannot change. Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn, Though sair be they to dree : But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide, Mair keen than w'ind and sea. Ill may we thole the night's watches, And ill the weary day : And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep, A waefu' gift gie they ; For the sangs they sing us, the sights they bring us, The morn blaws all away. On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw, The burn rins blithe and fain : There's nought wi' me I wadna gie To look thereon again. On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide : There sounds nae hunting-horn That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat Round banks where Tyne is born. The Wansbeck sings with all her springs, The bents and braes give ear ; 314 A JACOBITE'S EXILE But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings I may not see nor hear ; For far and far thae blithe burns are, And strange is a' thing near. The light there lightens, the day there brightens, The loud wind there lives free : Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me That I wad hear or see. But O gin I were there again, Afar ayont the faem, Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed That haps my sires at hame ! We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair. And the sweet grey gleaming sky. And the lordly strand of Northumberland, And the goodly towers thereby : And none shall know but the winds that blow The graves wherein we lie. 315 THE TYNESIDE WIDOW THERE'S mony a man loves land and life, Loves life and land and fee ; And mony a man loves fair women, But never a man loves me, my love, But never a man loves me. O weel and weel for a' lovers, I wot weel may they be ; And weel and weel for a' fair maidens. But aye mair woe for me, my love. But aye mair woe for me. O weel be wi' you, ye sma' flowers, Ye flowers and every tree ; And weel be wi' you, a' birdies. But teen and tears wi' me, my love, But teen and tears wi' me. O weel be yours, my three brethren. And ever weel be ye ; Wi' deeds for doing and loves for wooing. But never a love for me, my love, But never a love for me. 316 THE TYNESIDE WIDOW And weel be yours, my seven sisters, And good love-days to see. And long life-days and true lovers, But never a day for me, my love, But never a day for me. Good times \vi' you, ye bauld riders, By the hieland and the lee ; And by the leeland and by the hieland It's weary times vv^i' me, my love. It's weary times wi' me. Good days wi' you, ye good sailors, Sail in and out the sea ; And by the beaches and by the reaches It's heavy days wi' me, my love, It's heavy days wi' me. I had his kiss upon my mouth. His bairn upon my knee ; I would my soul and body were twain. And the bairn and the kiss wi' me, my love, And the bairn and the kiss wi' me. The bairn down in the mools, my dear, O saft and saft lies she ; I would the mools were ower my head, And the young bairn fast wi' me, my love. And the young bairn fast wi' me. 317 THE TYNESIDE WIDOW The father under the faeni, ni}- dear, O sound and sound sleeps he ; I would the faem were ower my face, And the father lay by me, my love, And the father lay by me. I would the faem were ower my face. Or the mools on my ee-bree ; And waking-time with a' lovers. But sleeping-time wi' me, my love, But sleeping-time wV me. I would the mools were meat in my mouth, The saut faem in my ee ; And the land-worm and the water-worm To feed fu' sweet on me, my love, To feed fu' sweet on me. My life is sealed with a seal of love, And locked with love for a key ; And I lie wrang and I wake lang, But ye tak' nae thought for me, my love, But ye tak' nae thought for me. We were weel fain of love, my dear, O fain and fain were we ; It was weel with a' the weary world. But O, sae weel wi' me, my love, But O, sae weel wi' me. 318 THE TYNESIDE WIDOW We were nane ower mony to sleep, my dear, I wot we were but three ; And never a bed in the weary world For my bairn and my dear and me, my love, For my bairn and my dear and me. 319 DEDICATION THE years are many, the changes more, vSince wind and sun on the wild sweet shore Where Joyous Gard stands stark by the sea With face as bright as in years of yore Shone, swept, and sounded, and hiughed for glee More deep than a man's or a child's may be. On a day when summer was wild and glad. And the guests of the wind and the sun were we. The light that lightens from seasons clad With darkness now, is it glad or sad? Not sad but glad should it shine, meseems, On eyes yet fain of the joy they had. For joy was there with us ; joy that gleams And murmurs yet in the world of dreams Where thought holds fast, as a constant W'arder, The days when I rode by moors and streams, Reining my rhymes into buo3'ant order Through honied leagues of the northland border. Though thought or memory fade, and prove A faithless keeper, a thriftless hoarder, 321 DEDICATION One landmark lu-vcr can change remove, One sign can the years efface not. Love, More strong than death or than doubt may be, Treads down their strengths, and al^ides above. Yea, change and death are his servants : we, Whom love of the dead links fast, though free, May smile as they that beheld the dove Bear home her signal across the sea. INDEX TO POEMS INDEX TO POEMS AGE AND SONG (TO BARRY CORNWALL) ARMADA, THE AT A month's end at parting . ave atque vale . baby-bird baby's epitaph, a ballad of bath, a ballad of dreamland, before SUNSET birth-song, a bride's tragedy, the bruno, for the feast of giordano burton, to sir richard f. by twilight by the wayside . caliban on ariel catullum, ad child's song . choriambics . commonweal, the complaint of lisa, the cornwall, in memory of barry 75 205 31 IIO 55 254 276 248 95 102 85 305 53 285 275 267 287 179 121 108 192 47 77 INDEX TO POEMS PAGE DEDICATION, 1878 (TO SIR RICHARD F. BURTON) 181 DEDICATION, (TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT) . 32I EPICEDE ....... 80 EX-VOTO ....... 90 FORSAKEN GARDEN, A .... . 23 FOUR SONGS OF FOUR SEASONS : I. WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND . 1 25 II. SPRING IN TUSCANY . . . I36 III. SUMMER IN AUVERGNE . . . I39 IV. AUTUMN IN CORNWALL . . . I42 GAUTIER, THEOPHILE . . . . . 1 74 GAUTIER, MEMORIAL VERSES ON THE DEATH OF TIlfeOPHILE ..... 65 gwyn, nell ....... 286 hugo in 1877, victor . . . . . i20 hugo, from victor ..... 17i hugo, to victor ...... 82 in a garden ...... 250 in obitum tiieophili poet^ . . . 1 78 inferiae ....... 82 inchbold, in memory of john william . 278 interpreters, the . . . . . 27 1 in the bay . . . . . . . ii in time of mourning ..... 270 jacobite's exile, a . . . . . 312 Jacobite's farewell, a . . . . 311 kossuth, to louis . . . . . 1 48 last oracle, the ..... 5 lykh-wake song, a .... . 300 326 INDEX TO POEMS MARCH : AN ODE ..... NEAP-TIDE ...... NEW year's day ..... NIGHT ....... NOCTURNE ...... ODE (le TOMBEAU DE THEOPHILE gautier) OLIVE ....... PAN AND THALASSIUS .... PASTICHE ...... RECALL, THE ..... RELICS ....... reiver's NECK-VERSE, A . . . RHYME, A ..... . RIZPAH ....... SEAMEW, TO A SESTINA ....... SONG ....... SONG IN SEASON, A . . . . SONNET (with A COPY OF MADEMOISELLE DE MAUPIN) ...... TAYLOR, ON THE DEATH OF SIR HENRY TOURNEUR, CYRIL ..... TRIADS ....... TWO LEADERS ..... TYNESIDE WIDOW, THE .... VILLON, A BALLAD OF FRANCOIS VILLON, TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH 01< THE COMPLAINT OF THE FAIR ARMOURESS A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL 187 264 284 269 172 256 240 100 274 27 301 252 147 37 103 III 74 277 97 122 118 316 98 149 154 327 INDEX TO POEMS FRAGMENT ON DEATH . . . . BALLAD OF THE LORDS OF OLD TIME BALLAD OF THE WOMEN OF PARIS . BALLAD WRITTEN FOR A BRIDEGROOM BALLAD AGAINST THE ENEMIES OF FRANCE THE DISPUTE OF THE HEART AND BODY OF FRAN9OIS VILLON . . . . EPISTLE IN FORM OF A BALLAD TO HIS FRIENDS ..... THE EPITAPH IN FORM OF A BALLAD VISION OF SPRING IN WINTER, A WASTED VIGIL, A . WEARY WEDDING, THE WHITE CZAR, THE . WITCH-MOTHER, THE WINDS, THE . WORD WITH THE WIND, A YEAR OF THE ROSE, THE PAGE 161 163 167 169 104 43 288 14s 302 299 260 39 o -I 1 U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES CDBfiTbElbb